


Purity

by Vintage_CeliaEquus (CeliaEquus)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adopted Hermione Granger, Developing Relationship, F/M, Family, I'll add characters as I go because I honestly can't remember who else appears in this, Non-Canon Relationship, Slight bashing, Teacher-Student Relationship, tropey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 50,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8098357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeliaEquus/pseuds/Vintage_CeliaEquus
Summary: Hermione receives a shock in Potions class one day, when she discovers her true parentage. It changes her life forever... but for the worse?
Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognise.
Originally posted on ffnet May 29, 2010.  This was my most popular fic, which means that I've been bugged about it the most.  So it's going to be posted first.  I was playing with popular Harry Potter tropes at the time, so you get both adopted!Hermione and Harry and Ron (temporarily) disowning her as their friend because of her relations.





	1. Potions Class

**Author's Note:**

> There'll be no author notes in this, because I wrote the story in a different way to any other. Each chapter starts with a summary of the previous chapter, in a conversational tone, and each chapter ends with a sum-up, as well as a small preview of what's to come. They're part of the story, in a way, so they won't be in notes, otherwise some people might not read them.

It was pure chance that the whole thing started in Potions. Or was it chance? Things may have started there; and perhaps it was irony instead, striking later. Either way, it was a funny thing that Hermione’s troubles should start here, and end… well, we shall see that when we get there. After all, my dear readers, I am not in the habit of revealing the ending before we have barely touched on the beginning.

So here begins the story, a tale of past mistakes, present misunderstandings, and as to the future… again, that cannot yet be revealed. I refuse to get ahead of myself. Please do warn me if I appear to be straying.

Thus saying, allow me to begin my narrative, and I hope that you shall enjoy reading it just as I enjoy writing it.

 

In the seventh year Potions class, Professor Snape had the students make a Family Tree potion. When it was brewed properly, three drops on a piece of parchment would have the brewer’s family tree mapped out for three generations, seven drops for seven generations, and just one drop would reveal their parents. Harry was of the opinion—granted, it was a justified opinion—that their professor just wanted to cause them pain. After all, it involved using some of the person’s blood; and even though it was only a bit, many of the students didn’t have a high pain threshold.

“You should be finished by now,” he said, his harsh gaze sweeping the students. He walked among them. “Once you have completed your own, creative…” he sneered, “‘variations’, you may test them.”

Hermione’s potion was, of course, perfect. The potions master deemed it ‘nearly adequate’, causing her to brighten at the almost-praise. She filled two vials; one for her marks, and one for testing. A few years ago, she had found herself interested in genealogy, but had neither the time nor the resources to find out anything; nor were her parents willing to help. This led her to believe that they knew very little as well, and were trying to save her from any disappointment. This potion was the perfect chance for her to find out something, _anything_ , that might aid her search.

While Harry and Ron struggled to fix their own potions, and Neville tried to stop his from melting his cauldron, Hermione placed five drops of the potion onto the piece of parchment she had set out. Five generations ought to do it for starters, she thought, watching the lines and names form.

She looked up in time to stop Neville from adding too much ground beetles, which would have caused the potion to explode, and the entire classroom to be obliterated. The professor swept over to them, and the boy cowered in his seat. Hermione bit her lower lip, sitting back on her own stool. There was a moment when she could have sworn she saw a grateful look flit across his face, but dismissed it as a trick of the light.

“Fifteen points from Gryffindor for nearly killing us all, Longbottom,” Professor Snape said, “and five points from the same house for helping a housemate without permission, Miss Granger.”

“Yes, Prof…” She stopped, staring down at the parchment.

“Miss Granger? Are you listening to me?” She wasn’t. Professor Snape strode around the cauldrons and stood behind her, wondering what had the girl’s undivided attention.

“What is it, `Mione?” Ron whispered.

“Fifteen points from your house for speaking without permission, Weasley.”

“Why, you…”

“Want to make it another _twenty_?”

“…No, sir.”

“Then quiet. Let me see that, Miss Granger,” he demanded, and he whipped the parchment away from the desk. Hermione sat there, still frozen in shock, not noticing that her professor had taken the potion-made family tree. Professor Snape’s look travelled from the parchment to the student in front of him, his expression one of surprise, shock, and confusion. He knew what this meant.

“What is it, sir?” Malfoy called out. “The Mudblood finally facing facts?”

“Quiet, Draco!” the professor snapped, and several gasps echoed throughout the dungeon classroom. “Class dismissed. Potter, pack Miss Granger’s book bag.” He folded the parchment, thrust it into his pocket, and grabbed the girl’s elbow. He pulled her off the stool. “Miss Granger? Granger? Snap out of it, girl!”

“Sir?” Harry asked. Professor Snape looked up at him, and snatched the bag away. He threw it over his shoulder, inwardly grimacing at the weight of the numerous books inside.

“Potter, Weasley, go to your next classes.”

“Lunch is next, sir.”

“Then just go!”

“Sir,” Ron said, “she’s in shock.”

“I know that, Weasley,” Professor Snape said through clenched teeth. There was only one way to snap a person out of shock, and he preferred to wait until they were in the headmaster’s office, where she could have her breakdown in relative privacy. “Leave this classroom immediately.” He let go of Hermione long enough to propel the boys through the door, and then returned to her side. It would be quicker to floo, and he wanted to catch the headmaster before he could leave for lunch. So he threw in a handful of the powder, stepped into the green flames, and pulled Hermione against him. “Headmaster’s office,” he said clearly, and he protected her from the walls as they flew through the floo network.

Eventually, they fell out of the headmaster’s fireplace and onto the rug in front, Professor Snape landing half on top of her. He scrambled to his feet, pulling her up.

“Well,” he remarked, “clearly that wasn’t enough of a shock to wake you.”

“Indeed, Severus,” Professor Dumbledore said, making the potions master jump. “What has happened?”

“Miss Granger is in shock, which is why I must do this,” he replied, and he slapped her across the face. Two seconds later, Hermione started to tremble, tears forming, and she looked around the office. She looked more frightened than either of the men had ever seen her, including when they defended Hogwarts against attack last year. Voldemort had used the Cruciatus Curse on her, before Lavender Brown deflected it with a well-placed Shielding Charm. Ron had been all over her for saving his friend’s life, though she had just been repaying Hermione for knocking her out of the way of a Killing Curse earlier on. But that didn’t matter to the hormone-driven redhead, or to the equally hormone-driven blonde.

As Hermione had told Harry, they were made for each other.

Once Professor Snape had administered a Calming Draught to her from the headmaster’s stores, Professor Dumbledore asked why she was in shock.

“Here,” the potions master said, thrusting the offending parchment into Dumbledore’s hands. “The result of that family tree potion we made in class this morning.”

**_Hermione Jean Granger_ **

**_Born to_ **

**_Abraxas Malfoy     and     Walburga Black_ **

**_(deceased)_ **

He stopped reading there, and looked up to see the potions professor smoothing the hair out of Hermione’s face, while she wiped at her tears with her handkerchief. She sniffled, and stilled when she noticed the fingers still stroking her face. Her eyes connected with his, and he pulled his hand away as though he’d been touching hot coals, and only just realised it. But his voice was still gentle when he spoke.

“Are you quite well, Miss Granger?” he asked, and she nodded. But then she looked up at the headmaster, who was watching the interaction with anxiety.

“I’m… was the potion wrong?” She looked at Professor Snape, who shook his head.

“I’m sorry, but it was your usual standard; in other words, perfect,” he said. “Though you’ll never get me saying that in front of anyone else,” he added, and she giggled, before sniffing again.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said. “So I’m… not a Mudblood, then.” They winced at the term, but knew that she was just being ironic.

“That is so, Miss Granger,” Professor Dumbledore said gently.

“And I’m… Lucius Malfoy’s half-sister,” she said, trying to suppress a grin. Instead, it came out as a smirk. The men nodded. “And Sirius’s half-sister.” They nodded again, though she looked less happy when she thought of Harry’s late godfather. “But… I’m definitely Draco Malfoy’s aunt,” she added, and now she let out the grin. The two professors let out sighs of relief. She was taking the news better than expected.

 

Readers, it was later that Hermione realised her change in circumstances. Many things hit her at once, about her new situation. Not the least of these was that she would have to tell everyone what had happened, for they would surely be suspicious. However, you shall read of this in the next chapter. Until then, farewell, and enjoy!


	2. Waking Up

When last we met, fair readers, Hermione had found out a startling truth: she was actually a pureblood, not a Muggleborn. Professor Snape took her to Professor Dumbledore’s office, and tried to cheer her up after having a ‘moment’ with her. Hermione could indeed see what her newfound heritage meant.

 

_“Thank you, Professor,” she said. “So I’m… not a Mudblood, then.” They winced at the term, but knew that she was just being ironic._

_“That is so, Miss Granger,” Professor Dumbledore said gently._

_“And I’m… Lucius Malfoy’s half-sister,” she said, trying to suppress a grin. Instead, it came out as a smirk. The men nodded. “And Sirius’s half-sister.” They nodded again, though she looked less happy when she thought of Harry’s late godfather. “But… I’m definitely Draco Malfoy’s aunt,” she added, and now she let out the grin. The two professors let out sighs of relief. She was taking the news better than expected._

 

Hermione needed some time to adjust, and the headmaster was happy to let her stay in the staffroom. After all, the professors would eventually need to be informed. So Professor Snape led her there, and sat her down by the fire. He sat opposite, and ordered lunch from the house elves, who brought a huge platter of sandwiches, a jug of cold pumpkin juice and two goblets, six big pieces of caramel slice, and a bowl of grapes and cherries.

“I only asked for a modest repast,” the potions master said, trying to encourage a smile from Hermione. But she was sitting there, curled up in the armchair, watching the crackling and popping of the hypnotic flames. He placed five sandwiches, a small bunch of grapes, and half a piece of the slice on a plate for her. He followed this by pouring her a goblet of the juice, and placed both on the coffee table before her. The clatter of china on wood woke Hermione from her reverie, and she looked down.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, and she took a sip of the juice. Setting it down again, she helped herself to one of the grapes. Professor Snape fixed his own plate, and they both slowly ate in silence. Eventually, they finished at the same time, and the house elves came to collect their things, avoiding Hermione lest she give them clothes.

“I have classes soon, Miss Granger,” the professor reminded her, and she nodded. He stood, reluctant to leave her alone. “Will you be fine here?”

“Am I still Hermione Granger?” she asked, gazing up at him. He sat down again.

“You will always be you, no matter your name,” he said. “Your ancestry doesn’t change who you are inside; only people’s perception of you.”

“But that will change when they find out, won’t it?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “But do not let them change you if you do not wish to be changed.”

She sighed. “Thank you, Professor Snape. You’ve been… kind.”

“Well, just refrain from telling anyone that, and I will let you live,” he sneered, standing. She giggled, and he was relieved. Finally, a positive reaction. He left, and Hermione returned to her original train of thought.

She was adopted. She had been lied to all these years. Now she could see why; she was a bastard child; the illegitimate daughter of Sirius and Regulus Black’s mother, and Lucius Malfoy’s father. What had brought that about? Had they been having an affair, or was it a one-off? Perhaps if she looked up their histories…

What was she thinking? Abraxas Malfoy—her biological father—was still alive!

But… would he remember her? Would he have even known about her? And how to get an introduction? Nobody would want to know her now. Her friends would no doubt despise her for being related to Draco Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, not to mention Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Never mind that she was Harry’s godfather’s half-sister. The purebloods would hate her for being on the side of the Light, and those from the Light would mistrust her for her ancestry.

Professor Snape was right. People’s views of her would change, and not for the better.

“I can’t let myself be changed,” she said forcefully. “No matter who my parents are.”

She thought some more. She was, after all, descended from the two oldest and most powerful wizarding families, and thus connected to the others as well. She was, somewhere along the way, related to the Weasleys, and to Neville. Most of the purebloods, in fact. She was no longer Hermione Granger, Muggleborn.

She was one of the purest witches in the United Kingdom.

She giggled at the thought that this might make her quite a ‘catch’. Assuming being an illegitimate child wasn’t so shameful that purity counted for naught. She pulled out the family tree she had made in Potions class, and studied it. Abraxas Malfoy. Walburga Black. Hermione Granger.

“Ha!” she muttered, smiling again. “Malfoy will be calling me ‘Aunt Hermione’. Well, perhaps not. But it’s a cheering thought. The only good thing to come out of all of this.” She snickered, but then thought. She had always been an only child, or so she thought. Now she had three brothers, two of them dead. No doubt Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her. She was a disgrace to the family in so many ways.

It wasn’t that she desired to be accepted by them. She had her adoptive parents and her friends, not to mention Crookshanks. Darling Crooks. She wondered what he’d think of her true parentage. Not much. After all, he was in much the same situation, being half-Kneazle. Merlin only knew who _his_ parents were.

“Now I’m comparing myself to my familiar,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Probably why they _call_ them ‘familiars’.” She chuckled again, and then decided. She would contact Lucius Malfoy. Her half-brother. Right now, before she could lose her nerve.

She stood up, approached the fireplace, and took a pinch of floo powder, before throwing it into the flames.

 

So, readers, Hermione had made up her mind. She was going to call the only man who might be able to help her right then. From the moment she decided to contact him, until the moment she thrust her head into the green fire, she wondered what his reaction would be. Would he turn her away? Would he demand proof? Would he accept her immediately, with surprisingly open arms? Would he make fun of her?

And, above all, would he let her see their father?

Readers, you will be privy to their conversation in the next chapter. So please read and review!


	3. Dear Brother

In the previous chapter, Hermione had thought over her situation after lunch with Professor Snape, and made up her mind to contact her half-brother, Lucius Malfoy. She was unsure of how he might react, but was determined to speak to him, and perhaps even meet her biological father.

 

_It wasn’t that she desired to be accepted by them. She had her adoptive parents and her friends, not to mention Crookshanks. Darling Crooks. She wondered what he’d think of her true parentage. Not much. After all, he was in much the same situation, being half-Kneazle. Merlin only knew who his parents were._

_“Now I’m comparing myself to my familiar,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Probably why they call them ‘familiars’.” She chuckled again, and then decided. She would contact Lucius Malfoy. Her half-brother. Right now, before she could lose her nerve._

_She stood up, approached the fireplace, and took a pinch of floo powder, before throwing it into the flames._

 

“Mr. Malfoy?”

Lucius Malfoy turned around, arching an eyebrow as his secretary called.

“What is it?”

“There’s a call for you, from Hogwarts,” she said. “A student.”

“Draco?”

“No. A young girl.”

“I see,” he said, wondering if it was that nuisance, Parkinson. He sighed, finished his conversation with Shacklebolt, and returned to his office. There, he was surprised to see the brown, bushy hair of the Granger girl. She had a strange look on her face; but as he really didn’t care about the Mudblood, he didn’t bother to analyse her expression. Instead, he slowly removed his robe, hung it up, and took his time approaching the fireplace. Finally, he leaned against it, towering over the head amidst the flames, and examined his nails while he spoke.

“Miss Granger, I believe?”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy,” she said. “Uh… could I please speak with you?”

“You _are_ speaking with me, Miss Granger.”

“In private, I mean. And uh… not with me kneeling down like this. It’s important.”

He sighed heavily, and stood back. “Fine. I shall come to Hogwarts. Where are you?”

“The staffroom.”

He was surprised, but carefully didn’t let it show. “Very well.” Her head disappeared, and he flooed through to the school. She was sitting in one of the armchairs by the time he arrived, a large piece of parchment in her hands, her eyes on the floor.

“What is it you wish to speak to me about?” he asked.

“Please sit down, Mr. Malfoy,” she whispered, glancing up at him, before looking away again. “You… you make me nervous, standing over me like that.”

“Very well,” he said again, inclining his head as he sat in the opposite chair. He appraised her, his cold eyes taking in the way she fidgeted. He leaned back, stretching out his long legs, and she finally made eye contact with him.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she began.

“That is indeed my name, Miss Granger.”

“P-please don’t do that,” she said, scrunching the paper in her agitation. “You’re just making this more difficult.”

“I apologise, Miss Granger. Do continue.”

She swallowed, and looked down at the parchment. “I’m your half-sister.” She waited, but nothing happened. Finally, she looked up. As soon as their eyes met, he burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

“Did Draco put you up to this? Or are you indeed my son, only Polyjuiced to look like the Mudblood?”

She winced, and held out the parchment. “I wish that was the case, Mr. Malfoy. But in Potions today—and Professor Snape can confirm this—we made a family tree potion. No doubt your son has told you of my… proficiency in classes.”

“As a governor of Hogwarts, I know of your ‘reputation’,” he said, sneering. It was an insult that a young witch of Muggle parentage should be so talented, more so than his son. He snatched the parchment away from her, and studied it. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline. If she had brewed the potion incorrectly, nothing would have happened. Either that, or the parchment would have disintegrated. Nonetheless, he cast a wordless spell over it, confirming that it was genuine. Slowly, his eyes crept back up, to find her biting her lip as she stared at him, worried about his reaction. He gave her back the parchment.

“Well?” she asked, her voice barely there as she spoke.

“Miss Granger,” he began. He paused. “Hermione.” She sighed in relief. “I need time to… think about this.” She nodded. “You will grant me that time?”

“Of course!” she exclaimed. “Anything, Mr. Malfoy. I just felt as though I should tell you.”

“You did the right thing.” He grimaced. “I’ll have to ask Father about this.”

“May I…” She stopped, and he looked at her.

“You wish to meet him?” She nodded. “That is quite natural. I will take you with me, if you desire.”

“That sounds fine. I’ll just have to ask Professor Dumbledore.”

“Of course, of course.”

They sat together for quite some time, reluctant to break the silence. Finally, Hermione asked the important question.

“So… _will_ I be ‘Aunt Hermione’?”

Lucius looked at her, wondering what she meant. Then it hit him, and he chuckled. That chuckle turned to genuine laughter, and they both found themselves rolling about where they sat, finally feeling relaxed.

“It would certainly amuse me to see that,” he admitted. “But it would undoubtedly be awkward for you.”

“Yes, I should imagine so,” she agreed, sober again. “I’m… I’m scared of everyone’s reactions. What do I do, Mr. Malfoy?”

“First of all,” he said, frowning, “you will have to call me ‘Lucius’ at some stage.”

“Very well. Lucius.”

“Better. Secondly, we shall do everything necessary to make sure that you are accepted. You may have been conceived… shall we say ‘between the blankets’? I believe that is the expression?”

“Yes, sir. Uh, Lucius.”

“But you are my sister, and a Pureblood. Therefore, you must be acknowledged as such, treated as such. Have you informed your friends of this… development?”

“No. Not yet. I only just found out. It’s been, oh, less than an hour, I think. Only the two of us, Professor Snape, and Professor Dumbledore know.”

“I’m flattered to have been told so soon,” he remarked, smiling gently at her. “But we will talk further on this. I regret that I must return to my work.” He stood, and so did Hermione. “I will owl you when I have arranged a time with my—our—father.”

“Thank you, Lucius.”

“Hermione,” he said, bending over her hand. “Until we meet again, sister.” He flooed out, and she sank back into her seat. He had been so amicable.

It could only go downhill from here.

 

So Hermione was relieved that the conversation had gone so well. She still worried about the reactions of other people, and hoped that Mr. Malfoy—Lucius—would refrain from informing anyone until they had spoken again. She needed to tell her friends, and she was worried about Harry’s reaction in particular. He and her nephew were, after all, arch-nemeses.

Until we meet again, dear readers, please do review.


	4. Dinnertime Arrives

You will no doubt wish for another update. Well, then; here you are. In the last chapter, Lucius Malfoy had accepted his half-sister, The Pureblood Formerly Known as Hermione Granger. After the initial shock wore off, a joke between them broke the ice, and they got on very well. Hermione was still curious about how everything would work, and after her ‘new’ brother had left, she had a long wait ahead of her until… well, until _something_ would happen.

 

_“I’m flattered to have been told so soon,” he remarked, smiling gently at her. “But we will talk further on this. I regret that I must return to my work.” He stood, and so did Hermione. “I will owl you when I have arranged a time with my—our—father.”_

_“Thank you, Lucius.”_

_“Hermione,” he said, bending over her hand. “Until we meet again, sister.” He flooed out, and she sank back into her seat. He had been so amicable._

_It could only go downhill from here._

 

Professor Dumbledore had flooed her once classes were over to tell her that either she could eat in the staffroom, or join the students. Deciding to quell their worries somewhat, she chose the latter option, and he commended her for her Gryffindor bravery. He had emphasised the name of her house, and she wondered at that. Yes, she was a Gryffindor. Sirius had been a Gryffindor, and Tonks a Hufflepuff. Did blood really count as much as all _that_?

“Yes, it does,” she muttered as she took her seat.

“What’s that, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Oh. Nothing.”

“So why’d you run out of Potions today?” he said, tilting his head. Hermione delayed her answer by loading her plate with food. Finally, she turned to him.

“I’m adopted, and it threw me,” she replied. “A lot.”

“Wha wash Shnape sho…”

“Ron! Swallow before you talk, for Merlin’s sake!” Hermione exclaimed, disgusted.

“Don’t talk to my boyfriend like that,” Lavender said, putting a possessive hand on Ron’s left arm and glaring at her roommate.

“Ron wants to know why Snape reacted the way he did,” Harry said, steering the conversation back to its original course.

“ _Professor_ Snape, Harry. He saw the names of my parents, saw that I was in shock, and decided to get me to the headmaster’s office,” she said, settling for telling them as much of the truth as she could. If she got enough of it out of the way, it might satisfy them until she had worked out how to go about this. She wanted to speak to Abraxas Malfoy before she told her friends.

“Why?” Ron asked, having finally gulped his food down.

“No doubt he wanted to avoid being hexed by the two of you,” she said dryly, and she insisted on consuming half of her meal before she would continue. After a long draught of pumpkin juice, she resumed her story, grateful that she wasn’t lying—for the moment, at least. “After all, there was only one way to snap me out of the shock so that he could administer a Calming Draught.”

“He had to slap you?” Parvati asked, and Ginny nearly knocked over her own juice. Neville paled, which almost amused Hermione. She nodded, and more than half a dozen heads swivelled to look at the staff table. Her head sank into her hands.

“Naturally, he didn’t want to be around the two of you, just in case you decided to defend me, and did something foolish,” she said, her voice mildly muffled. She raised her head, and finished off her dinner and juice. “Anyway, that’s all I’m telling you. I need to rest, and think things over.”

“But who are your parents?” Harry asked. Hermione looked at him, and told just one more truth before she left.

“You don’t know them,” she said, and she left the hall, neatly resisting the temptation to look over at the far table and smirk at her nephew.

There’d be time for that later.

Smiling at this thought yet again, she hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, said the password, and ran to her dormitory. She sat down, wondering when Mr. Malfoy’s owl would arrive. No. Lucius’ owl. Just when she thought she’d been improving as well. Hermione sighed, and lay back on the bed, thinking about the strange events of the day. Had anyone else successfully completed their potions, and tried them out? No. Now she could kind of remember something. The class had been dismissed. Would Professor Snape give everyone a fail for that day?

She opened her book bag and pulled out the family tree. After staring at it for several minutes, hardly blinking, she casting a Concealment Charm on it, so that only she would be able to see the writing. Anyone else would only see a crude sketch of Crookshanks. She folded it, and tucked it away under her pillow. Ever since SPEW, she was used to changing her own bed, and leaving the old sheets and pillowcases out for Dobby.

After that, she lay back down, and wondered what her new name should be, if indeed she had to change her name. Well, no doubt she’d be able to find out when she met with her father, whenever that might be.

Before the other girls could return, she changed, and hopped back into bed, Crooks resting at her feet with a feline sigh. She pulled out her school work, and set about doing her Charms, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy assignments. Once they were all complete, she was satisfied, mentally berating herself for not having done more work while she was in the staffroom earlier.

But, all things considered, it _had_ been rather a trying day, and she was allowed some little concession.

 

And indeed it had been a trying day for her, readers. The next day would bring two letters, ultimately drawing trouble into Hermione’s life, and disturbing the relative peace at Hogwarts. Rumours would fly faster than a Firebolt.

But again, friends, that is for the next chapter.


	5. Two Owls

After Hermione finished her work, dear readers, she finally allowed herself some sleep, the day’s events catching up on her body, and sending her to the land of Nod. She had a blessedly dreamless sleep, and felt raring to go the next morning, wondering what the new day of her new— _secret_ —life would bring.

 

_Before the other girls could return, she changed, and hopped back into bed, Crooks resting at her feet with a feline sigh. She pulled out her school work, and set about doing her Charms, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy assignments. Once they were all complete, she was satisfied, mentally berating herself for not having done more work while she was in the staffroom earlier._

_But, all things considered, it had been rather a trying day, and she was allowed some little concession._

 

Skilfully avoiding the questions of her curious dorm-mates, Hermione readied herself for the day. Slinging her book bag over her shoulder, and shoving the family tree into one of the pockets of her robes, she made her way down to the common room. Harry and Ron were waiting there, hoping to find out more from her; but they were disappointed in their endeavours. Lavender caught up with them, linking her arm through Ron’s, and giving Hermione a smug look. She got an eye-roll in return.

At breakfast, people were still looking at Hermione strangely. She ignored them, and looked up at the staff table while buttering her toast. The knife slipped and cut her when she made eye contact with Professor Snape, who almost looked worried about her.

Don’t be stupid, Hermione, she told herself. She sucked on her sore finger for a bit, before returning to her breakfast. This time she waited until she was safely chewing before looking at the professors again. Just one glance at each of their faces confirmed what she feared: they all knew. Professor Dumbledore must have told them, and she frowned at the headmaster, who merely gave her a small shrug. She sighed, and drank some of her pumpkin juice.

The mail arrived just then, and she wondered if she’d get any news from Lucius. Well, just as long as he didn’t use a family owl…

Oh. He _had_ used a family owl. She recognised the creature who brought notes to Malfoy every so often, and winced as it landed in front of her. It extended its leg elegantly, and she gingerly removed the note. Everyone had gone quiet.

“Oi! Granger!” Malfoy shouted from the Slytherin table. “That’s my father’s bird.”

“I thought that was your mother, Malfoy!” Harry shouted back, but Hermione didn’t laugh. The envelope certainly bore her name, and she groaned. The owl was clearly waiting for a reply, and sat there while she opened the letter. She didn’t notice the wands being drawn near her until she heard her nephew’s voice in the distance, and turned to see him striding towards her. Harry and Ron, flanking her, had their wands at the ready. She pulled out a piece of parchment and Self-Inking quill. Writing a reply, she swiftly attached it to the owl’s leg, and gave it a bit of her toast. After receiving a gentle stroke on its head, the bird took off.

“Why’s my father writing to you?” Malfoy asked. “What would he want with…” His voice trailed off as another dark bird landed in front of Hermione. She frowned, and relieved it of its message. “That’s my grandfather’s owl.”

“Your point being?” she snapped. She scanned this letter, too, shoved both missives into her pocket, and wrote a reply. She affixed it to the bird’s leg, gave it some toast and a pat as well, and sent it off.

“Hey, Draco!” one of the Slytherins called. Malfoy clenched his teeth, and looked behind him, where Blaise Zabini was walking over to the Gryffindors.

“What?”

“That’s quite enough,” Professor Dumbledore said, finally intervening. As far as Hermione was concerned, it was about bloody time. “Please return to your table, and finish your meals.”

“Maybe she’s your father’s new mistress,” Zabini suggested to Malfoy. “Or your grandfather’s. Or both,” he added, grinning at Hermione lasciviously. She felt ill, and stood.

“Leave Hermione alone!” several of the Gryffindors said, also getting to their feet, wands at the ready.

“Stop this at once!” Dumbledore bellowed, and everyone quieted. “Sit down at your _rightful_ tables.” His thunderous look quelled the students, and he resumed his seat. Hermione, embarrassed beyond belief, ran from the room, book bag hitting her legs as she went.

Once she was out in the corridor, she removed the pieces of parchment from her pocket, and thrust them into her bag. With a discreet flick of her wand, she created a concealed space inside, and hid them in there, closing it up with a flick and then swish. She sighed, and slumped against the wall. Transfiguration was first up. Joy. Why did every class have to be with the Slytherins?

“Don’t forget, `Mione,” she whispered sarcastically to herself, “they’re your ‘family’.” She shook her head, and headed to the classroom. As soon as she got there, she slid to the floor, resting her back against a column. She withdrew the letters she had received, annoyed that her father and brother had used their own personal owls, instantly recognisable. Had they done this on purpose? Had they decided not to accept her into the family, and simply wished to torment her? But no. Their letters suggested nothing of the kind.

 

_Hermione,_

_I have spoken with our father, who has requested that he write to you himself. No doubt he can tell you more than I. At the moment, I will keep this only between the two of us, and my wife, who I had to tell. Narcissa knew something was wrong. No, not wrong. Just different. Believe me, I am delighted to be able to welcome such an intelligent witch into the family._

_However, I fear that Father will insist upon a paternity test. Do not take this the wrong way. I believe that he had no knowledge of your existence._

_He will owl me once the two of you have settled on an appropriate meeting time. I can take any time off work that is necessary; and, in fact, I insist upon this._

_Regards,_

_Lucius Malfoy_.

 

Her reply had been short. She had thanked him for his welcome, his speedy correspondence, and finished by berating him for using the family owl.

 

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_My son has informed me. You are right to request a meeting. I assume six o’clock this Saturday evening is convenient._

_Abraxas Malfoy._

 

Her reply to her father’s letter had been even shorter. She had accepted with the word ‘Yes’.

 

So, after such a disturbance had been created at the first meal of the day, Hermione was dreading the upcoming class. She hoped that Professor McGonagall would arrive before any of the students. She not only wanted to get into the room with minimum fuss, but she also wanted to find out what the staff’s reactions had been.

I assure you, dear readers. You shall find out.


	6. First Lesson

My dear readers, Hermione received two letters that morning, one from her half-brother, and one from her biological father… and both brought by the family owls. This placed her in the awkward position of having to answer questions from her friends; a task she dreaded with every fibre of her being. And with Transfiguration coming up, with both Gryffindors and Slytherins together, and Professor McGonagall knowing who she really was… Well, she was beginning to stress.

 

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_My son has informed me. You are right to request a meeting. I assume six o’clock this Saturday evening is convenient._

_Abraxas Malfoy._

_Her reply to her father’s letter had been even shorter. She had accepted with the word ‘Yes’._

 

Me with my stupid ideas, Hermione thought, banging the back of her head against the column. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!

“Ow,” she complained, rubbing the back of her head. “That was even stupider. Well, more stupid. Not ‘stupider’. Ugh!”

She fiddled about with the hem of her robes, and sighed. Maybe she would go into the classroom early. Professor McGonagall would trust her in there, wouldn’t she? But, then again, would her opinion of her favourite student have changed overnight? Surely not.

“Miss Granger?” Well, she was about to find out.

“Good morning, Professor,” Hermione said, scrambling to her feet. She picked up her book bag. “Uh… may I go inside early? I don’t want to be bombarded with questions about… the owls I received this morning. It’ll be bad enough during the day. I just want… I just want some time to come up with a convincing story.”

“With a lie, you mean,” Professor McGonagall said, opening the door nonetheless. “And it’s not early if I’m already here.” She indicated that Hermione should go in, and followed behind her. While the girl took her usual front row seat, the professor strode to her desk and began to set up for the day. She saw Hermione’s hands shaking, and the beginnings of tears in her eyes. She sighed, and her student looked up. “Miss Granger,” she said. “Hermione. We none of us feel any differently about you as a student. It’s just quite a bit to take in.”

“I understand,” Hermione said, her voice thickening with tears. “I accept that. You see,” she let out a bitter laugh, “I feel much the same way.”

“You are still the same student, still our Hermione _Granger_ ,” Professor McGonagall said, leaning forward in her seat. “Our main concern—which, by the way, we all share with Professor Dumbledore—is how the students will react.”

“Indeed,” she replied, and she sniffed. “Professor McGonagall, did you know Abraxas Malfoy?”

“I…”

Just then, students began to barge into the room, and most of them looked ready to converge on Hermione. She shied away in her chair. Professor McGonagall called for quiet, perfectly ready to deduct points regardless of house or student, and they all sat down and shut up promptly. The lesson continued as normal—well, as normal as it could be for Hermione with her two friends trying to question her without being caught by their head of house, and getting suspicious looks from her nephew across the room.

When it ended, she all but ran from the room, refusing to talk to anyone. Eventually, Harry and Ron gave up on it, and left in a snit. Neville, surprisingly, walked beside her quietly, providing a silent pillar of strength. When they reached History of Magic, he sat beside her, still saying nothing.

However, after lunch, they both had a free period. While Hermione would have gone straight to the library, or even the Room of Requirement to hide, Neville pulled her into an empty classroom.

“Hermione,” he said without preamble, “I know you want to keep whatever it is to yourself. But do you really prefer speculation until you decide—if you ever decide—to tell everyone what’s going on? I’m more observant than people give me credit for, and, well… when you went into shock yesterday in Potions…”

“Yes,” she said, nodding and finally making eye contact. “It was my family tree. As it turns out, I’ve been adopted. However,” and she held up a hand, “I cannot tell you anything else. Not just yet. I wish I could, but… it’s not my story to tell. Not really. But thank you for being there for me.”

“We could pretend that you’re my sister if you like,” he suggested, and she laughed.

“We’ll see,” Hermione said. “Want to go to the library? You can help me with my Herbology homework.”

“Sounds great,” Neville replied.

Again, they walked in silence, Neville just sending a fierce look at anyone who tried to badger Hermione. They found a secluded corner in the library, and Neville helped Hermione. She knew facts and figures when it came to plants, but she had no real understanding of them, as he soon showed her. What had started out for Hermione as a way to help Neville and thank him for his support, became a real lesson.

“Can we do this again sometime?” she asked him, her eyes still wide with amazement at what she had learnt. “I mean, you’re a born teacher, Neville.”

He laughed, but then stopped when Madame Pince glared at him. He cleared his throat, growing paler, and Hermione had to stifle her own giggle at his expression, knowing what had caused it.

“Well, uh, if you want to,” he said, dropping his voice as he spoke.

“And I can help you with whatever else you want to learn.”

“You’re on,” he said, and they shook hands on it. But then Hermione checked the time, and they realised they were going to be late for Astronomy, and had to run. Neville, clearly, had been working out during the holidays, as he beat Hermione to the top of the stairs.

 

And, my dear readers, the private lessons were going to be one of the few highlights of Hermione’s life for quite a long time. For in the next chapter she was going to meet Abraxas Malfoy, and the truth would have to be revealed.

But, until then, I thank you all for your kind wishes, and please keep reviewing!


	7. Meeting Father

So, my friends, the weekend soon approached, bringing Hermione this much closer to meeting her biological father. Her half-brother had promised to be there, and she felt a bit more comforted that she would have Lucius Malfoy with her, even if he had never been friendly to her before. She was still reeling from his apparent acceptance, and wondered if it was a pureblood thing, that they would unfailingly treat their own kindly.

 

_“And I can help you with whatever else you want to learn.”_

_“You’re on,” he said, and they shook hands on it. But then Hermione checked the time, and they realised they were going to be late for Astronomy, and had to run. Neville, clearly, had been working out during the holidays, as he beat Hermione to the top of the stairs._

 

“Thank you for allowing this, Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione said, while she waited for Lucius in the headmaster’s office.

“Not a problem, Miss Granger. I understand how important this must be to you.” He smiled at her, and she gave him a shaky smile back. “And remember—any problems that you may encounter, you need only speak to me or to Professor McGonagall, and we will _help you_.”

“Professor Snape has already offered to help me as well,” Hermione told him. “After all, he’s friends with my… family.”

“Well, that’s true,” the headmaster admitted, but his smile faltered.

Just then, a knock came at the door. Lucius Malfoy was soon standing beside his sister, glancing down at her every so often while he and Dumbledore exchanged pleasantries. Finally, that over with, he held out his arm to accompany her to the fireplace.

“I will floo through first,” he said. “I would have suggested neutral territory, but that wouldn’t wear with Father. He’ll be more at ease familiar to him, and not to you.”

“So where are we going, Lucius?” Dumbledore made a noise of surprise, causing the brother and sister to look around at him. “He’s my brother, Professor Dumbledore, and he _did_ give me permission to use his first name.”

“Quite right, Miss Granger. I apologise.”

“As I was about to say,” Lucius said, frowning at the headmaster, before turning back to Hermione, “the address is Malfoy Estate, Peeblesshire.” He whispered it in Hermione’s ear so that they couldn’t be overheard, even by the portraits, let alone by the white-bearded wizard behind the desk. “But I wish to visit Severus first,” he continued in his normal voice, “so perhaps we can floo from the dungeons?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, nodding, and they left the office.

Professor Snape greeted his friend cordially, and half-smiled at Hermione. She smiled back, and thanked him for letting them use his floo. He left them alone in his office, and Lucius climbed into the fireplace first. He drew out a small pouch from his robes, and took a pinch of floo powder, before offering it to his sister. She took some of the green substance, and followed him to Abraxas Malfoy’s Scottish estate.

Someone caught her as she stumbled out of the fireplace. She knew it was Lucius, because as she looked up ahead of her, she saw a tall man with short, greying-blonde hair, staring straight back.

“Wally,” he whispered, his eyes wide as they met with Hermione’s. Then he seemed to shake himself, and instead looked at her impassively.

“Thank you, Lucius,” Hermione whispered to her brother as he released her. She glanced nervously at the man who was her father. “Hello, sir.”

“Miss Granger, is it?” he said. He walked very slowly to her, eyes scanning her body as he considered the young woman in front of him.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, and she glanced at Lucius. He smiled encouragingly at her, and she curtsied to her father. Abraxas kept studying her; was he trying to find Malfoy genes? “Thank you for seeing me.”

“I am unsure of your motive in seeking me out, Miss Granger; but I shall do the proper thing. Would you please take a seat?” Hermione and Lucius sat on the couch in front of the fire, and Abraxas took the armchair opposite. His gaze flickered between the two of them, and they dutifully waited for him to speak. “You don’t look very much alike.”

“Maybe I take after my mother?” she suggested. He frowned, crossing his arms as he reclined back, long legs stretched out in front of him.

“Hmm.” He continued to consider her, and Hermione squirmed. “I wish for you to undergo a paternity test.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I can assure you, _sir_ , that my family tree potion was brewed correctly. Professor Snape is the greatest Potions Master in Europe, and he confirmed it. Lucius also tested the validity.” She withdrew the folded parchment from her book bag, and gave it to Abraxas. “Of course, I’m willing to undergo any tests necessary to convince you. Because, quite frankly, sir, I want to know the truth as much as you do. I’ve always been an only child. And, in my opinion, it’s a case of ‘the more the merrier’ when it comes both to friends and family.”

Abraxas snorted at her sentiments. “How very Hufflepuff,” he muttered, examining the parchment. He performed various spells on the family tree, and Hermione looked at Lucius, doubting herself and her skills.

“How about I show you the family portrait gallery?” he suggested. Abraxas grunted his assent, and his two children left the room.

“Slinky!” he barked, and a house elf appeared before him.

“Yes, Master?”

“Please inform my son and my… guest,” he said, “that I shall be in the library. Do not forget to offer them refreshment.”

“Yes, Master. Can Slinky do anything else for his master?”

“No. That will be all.”

“Very good, Master.” Slinky disappeared with a pop, and Abraxas stood. He tried to ignore the image that kept popping into his mind: a young Wally Black, her toffee-coloured tresses flowing down her back, hazel eyes shining as they danced secretly in the library after curfew.

He shook his head regretfully, and strode from the room.

 

Tension was soon going to take its toll on Hermione. There was only so much the young Gryffindor would be able to take until she cracked from the pressure of secrecy, intrigue, and the doubt that would arise if she was indeed a pureblood.

There was no doubt about her heritage, readers. Only Abraxas Malfoy refused to acknowledge straightaway that a daughter had been the result of an affair that would rock the wizarding world.

And Hermione would bear the brunt of it.


	8. Portrait Gallery

Abraxas had reacted strangely upon seeing Hermione for the first time, when last we met, dear readers. To give him some time, Lucius took his half-sister to see the family paintings. This, however, was not the only reason. Part of it was to give her something to do, some distraction from the less than lukewarm reception; but it was mainly so that he could compare her features to past Malfoy women. Meanwhile, their father was intent on proving the family tree wrong.

 

_“Very good, Master.” Slinky disappeared with a pop, and Abraxas stood. He tried to ignore the image that kept popping into his mind: a young Wally Black, her toffee-coloured tresses flowing down her back, hazel eyes shining as they danced secretly in the library after curfew._

_He shook his head regretfully, and strode from the room._

 

“My mother, Prunella Malfoy,” Lucius said, pointing to the first painting they came across. A tall woman with golden hair looked down her nose at them.

“Good day, Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione said politely.

“Lucius?” the woman asked. “Who is this girl?”

“She’s… a schoolmate of Draco’s.”

“And why, pray tell, is she _here_? You’re not taking up with younger girls, are you? Surely not while you have that nice Narcissa…”

“It’s nothing like _that_ , Mother!” he spat, turning red. “If you must know, she’s…”

“Visiting your husband, in relation to something for school,” Hermione said quickly. “While he considers it, Lucius is showing me around.”

“You look familiar,” Mrs. Malfoy’s portrait said. “And yet we have never met before.”

“No, we wouldn’t have.”

“Come on, Hermione,” Lucius muttered, and he tugged her away. “Be glad my mother died ten years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry…”

“Well, I’m not. Come this way.”

While Lucius and Hermione continued to look at paintings, Abraxas pulled out book after book, determined to prove her wrong. No, she couldn’t be. Wally would have told him; of course she would have.

He sighed, and slumped in an armchair. He should have known from the start that their affair was a bad idea. He should have _known_! He slammed his fist down on the arm rest, and winced.

“The girl doesn’t look like me,” he muttered, over and over again, searching through magical tomes, even those with Dark Magic. Finally, he decided to pull out the big guns, and call on an expert.

Horace Slughorn, glad to get a call from one of his old friends, used the portkey that was flooed to him.

“Abraxas, my boy!” he exclaimed, shaking hands with the Malfoy patriarch. “How wonderful to see you again.”

“Business today, I’m afraid.”

“Never mind, my friend; never mind. What do you need?”

“I need you to check the authenticity of this,” Abraxas began, holding out the parchment. “However, may I have a Wizard’s Oath that you will be… discreet?”

“Of course, of course.” Once the oath was made, he turned back to the family tree. Not even taking in the names on it, he ran highly specialised Potions Masters’ spells over it, before sniffing the parchment, and examining it in the light.

“Well?”

“Genuine, my dear boy,” Horace said. “Why the fuss? The simplest of spells could have proven it so.”

“Did you even look at the names?”

“N… oh,” he said, his eyes bulging like a toad as he took it in. “My poor lad. Did you even…”

“ _No_ , I didn’t know,” Abraxas snapped, turning on his heel and leaving the family tree with Horace. He put his hands on the fireplace. “I refuse to believe it. There must have been some mistake. We were so _careful_.” He growled. “No. Wally… Mrs. Black would have told me; I would have helped her.”

“But what could you have done?”

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

“Ah, Horace,” Lucius said, nodding at his former potions teacher. “Good day.”

“Lucius, my lad,” Horace said, beaming at him. His smile froze when he looked at Hermione. “And you must be…”

“Hermione Granger, sir,” she said, dropping him a curtsy. Horace chuckled.

“Are you the one who brewed the potion?” he asked, waving the family tree. She nodded, blushing. “Superbly done, my dear girl. Which house are you in? You _do_ attend Hogwarts, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. I’m in Gryffindor.”

Abraxas made a strangled sound, and Horace winced a bit. But he regained his smile, and bowed to Hermione, who giggled. Lucius watched with amused interest.

“Albus has mentioned you in his letters to me. Brightest witch at Hogwarts, eh?”

“Student witch, yes. That’s what some people say, anyway.”

“She beats Draco in every class, by all accounts,” Lucius said.

“Except flying,” Hermione amended.

“Hardly surprising, since she’s his aunt,” her brother continued, smirking. A smashing sound came from the fireplace, and the three visitors noticed that their host had thrown an ornament into the fire. Horace cleared his throat, bid a hasty goodbye, and left.

“Uh… Father?” Hermione whispered, and Abraxas turned slowly.

“What did you just call me?” he asked, his voice soft and dangerous. It was nowhere near as smooth as Professor Snape’s voice, the roughness causing her to take a step back.

“I was just… trying it out,” she said weakly. Lucius placed his hands on her shoulders to stop her from moving back further.

“Don’t you dare intimidate her,” he said. “Speak to me how you like; I’m used to it. But my sister— _your daughter_ —is gentle. Give her a chance, for gods’ sake!”

“Don’t you tell me what not to do, boy!” Abraxas shouted. He snatched the parchment off the table where Horace had left it, crumpled it up, and threw it at Hermione. She put her hands up to shield herself, and managed to catch it at the last moment. “I accept that she was a mistake, an accident.” His voice grew even more venomous. “But I will never accept her as a daughter.” He turned back to the fire. “Do what you like, Lucius. But I wish never to see her again.”

Lucius led Hermione from the library, holding her up when her knees threatened to give out from under her.

“Calm down,” he whispered. “We’ll Apparate to Hogsmeade, and walk from there. Give you time to pull yourself together. Is that amenable to you?” She nodded, shaken. “Fine. Then hold onto me.”

 

Readers, Hermione didn’t know how to react. It was all Lucius could do to get her out of there without hexing their father. Worse was yet to come. For Hermione would need comfort from her friends, and would have to reveal the reason for her tears.

Until the next chapter, adieu!


	9. Needing Comfort

In the previous chapter, if you recall, my fair readers, Abraxas reacted badly to the revelation that Hermione was indeed his daughter. Lucius opposed his father by siding with his half-sister.

Of course, there were concerns that the Malfoy patriarch was being unreasonable, but it must be remembered that he had no idea Walburga had been pregnant. Also, he had no doubt heard about Hermione from his grandson, and would have known that she was Harry Potter’s best friend, and therefore on the opposite side of the war to him. And, as a Slytherin, he would automatically assume that she wanted something from him. Add to that the fact that, from his reaction, it was clear that she resembled her mother…

Well, put it this way: Hermione wasn’t the only one in emotional turmoil.

 

_“I accept that she was a mistake, an accident.” His voice grew even more venomous. “But I will never accept her as a daughter.” He turned back to the fire. “Do what you like, Lucius. But I wish never to see her again.”_

_Lucius led Hermione from the library, holding her up when her knees threatened to give out from under her._

_“Calm down,” he whispered. “We’ll Apparate to Hogsmeade, and walk from there. Give you time to pull yourself together. Is that amenable to you?” She nodded, shaken. “Fine. Then hold onto me.”_

 

On the walk, Lucius learnt more about his sister. Hermione told him about her studies, and he realised that academia was a perfect way to distract her. That led to them discussing books, and the library at Hogwarts.

“I’ve always felt a connection to that place; a really strong one,” she confessed. “As though it’s not just the books that make me feel at home.”

“Well, Father always enjoyed spending time there, according to Mother… oh,” he said, cursing himself for his stupidity as Hermione’s steps faltered, and she began to cry again. She brushed away a few tears, and he pulled out a handkerchief. “Now, come on, Hermione. Don’t… don’t cry,” he said, and he dabbed at her cheeks. “Let’s get you to the school, and your friends can comfort you there. I’ve never even had a daughter, never mind a younger sister. I’m no good at this.” He replaced the handkerchief in his pocket, and she gave him a watery smile.

“You’re doing just fine, Lucius,” she said. “Thank you… brother. Isn’t is strange how I can just accept you like this?”

“Not that strange,” he said as they continued up the hill to the school. “We’re family.”

“I suppose. And yet we don’t look that alike.”

“Hermione,” he said, stopping her. “Look at me.” She obeyed. “Your nose. It’s been Glamoured.”

“Wha… _what_?”

“I’m not sure why, but I do know that. I don’t know why no one noticed it before; or maybe it’s because, when I started at the Ministry, I encountered well-disguised Glamours on a daily basis in my department. But hold still for a moment.” She did her best, and didn’t even flinch when he held his wand to her face. “Vernasus ostentare suus.”

It felt like someone had pinched her nose severely as she felt it adjust on her face. It must have been a very good Glamour for no one to have noticed it. Finally, Lucius nodded, and she felt her face.

Yes. Definitely different. Lucius conjured a mirror, and she gasped.

“It’s the Malfoy nose,” he told her, and she nodded, recognising it. The new nose seemed to change her whole face, making her look more like her brother now. “Mrs. Black was very good at putting Glamours on other people, lasting ones. You are fortunate I picked this up. Now there’ll be no mistake.” He put away the mirror once she had finished studying her face.

“So what now?” she asked quietly as they approached the school.

“You must tell your friends, and soon,” he replied. “Gryffindors don’t appreciate things being kept from them, as a rule. Of course, that applies to most human beings. But they consider it to be a disloyalty. Do you wish for the rest of the wizarding world to be told? You’ll be quite a catch now, after all.” He winked at her, and she laughed. The doors opened, and they saw Professor Snape waiting for them.

“Mr. Malfoy’s elf came and informed me that you were on your way,” he said, trying his best not to stare at Hermione. Where had that nose come from? And why did she have to look so much prettier with it? At least there was no mistaking it. She really did look like the daughter of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy now.

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione said, blushing at his stare. Lucius cleared his throat, drawing his friend’s attention. “Uh, why not?” They men looked at her. “It was bound to come out sooner or later, the news. People will notice now, and I’d rather my side of the story be told… not that there’s any real side. But it’s better than keeping it from the press, isn’t it, rather than letting it come out on its own?”

“I’ll make sure there’s an article in _The Daily Prophet_ tomorrow,” Lucius promised. “I have considerable influence over the newspaper, and can assure that the article is… favourable.”

“Maybe Rita Skeeter won’t hassle me after this,” Hermione grumbled, at the same time looking hopeful.

“She’d do well to leave my baby sister alone,” he said defensively, and Professor Snape smirked.

“Miss Granger, your friends will be expecting you upstairs. If the article is to be printed tomorrow, I recommend telling them by tonight, preferably as soon as possible,” the potions master said. Hermione bid a shy goodbye to her brother, giving him a fierce but quick hug at the last moment, and ran upstairs with a hasty ‘see you later’ to her professor.

“Do you think I could be here tomorrow when the _Prophet_ is delivered, to see Draco’s reaction?” Lucius asked, his voice the same drawl as ever, but his eyes mischievous. “Disillusioned, naturally. But…”

“I’m sure the headmaster won’t mind,” Severus replied, also thinking about what tomorrow would bring.

 

Ah, my friends. While the two men were discussion young Malfoy’s possible reaction to the news that he had an aunt his age, Hermione was thinking about how she would tell her friends about her discovery. Who would she tell first, and how many at once? Should she just blurt it out to the entire house?

Until then, dear ones.


	10. Gryffindors Divided

With her father’s rejection weighing on her mind, and her brother’s acceptance lifting her heart, Hermione did her best to ignore these conflicting emotions and instead focus on the problem ahead: telling her friends her secret. Who could she count on?

 

_“Miss Granger, your friends will be expecting you upstairs. If the article is to be printed tomorrow, I recommend telling them by tonight, preferably as soon as possible,” the potions master said. Hermione bid a shy goodbye to her brother, giving him a fierce but quick hug at the last moment, and ran upstairs with a hasty ‘see you later’ to her professor._

_“Do you think I could be here tomorrow when the Prophet is delivered, to see Draco’s reaction?” Lucius asked, his voice the same drawl as ever, but his eyes mischievous. “Disillusioned, naturally. But…”_

_“I’m sure the headmaster won’t mind,” Severus replied, also thinking about what tomorrow would bring._

 

Hermione clambered through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, and looked about her nervously. Her fellow sixth year students were there, and so was Ginny, to her relief. She walked over to where Harry and Ron were playing chess.

“Hi,” she said quietly. The boys echoed the greeting, but Ginny looked up.

“You never say ‘hi’,” she said, tilting her head. “Usually you say ‘hello’.”

“Well, I’ve had kind of a rough day,” Hermione admitted. “Can I… can I speak to you three? And Neville. I want Neville to be there, too. I’ll tell Luna tomorrow, I guess. If there’s time, that is.”

“Hermione, you’re not making sense,” Ginny told her. “Oi!” She kicked the back of Ron’s chair, startling the boys. “C’mon. Hermione wants to tell us something.”

“Please come, Neville,” Hermione said, and he nodded. They went to the boys’ dormitory, Ron and Harry trailing behind, arguing about their abandoned chess game and who would have won it. However, when Hermione insisted they all sit down, and began to pace, they shut up. Ginny was cross-legged on Dean’s bed, Neville was perched on the edge of his, and the other two were at the foot of Harry’s four-poster.

“What’s this all about, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Where do I begin?” she muttered. With a sigh, she decided. “All right. You remember when we made the family tree potion?” The three boys nodded. “Well, it started there. I found out something that… well, in some respects, I wish I hadn’t. But, in another way, I’m glad.”

“Again, not making sense,” Ginny said.

“I’m getting there. I’m… I’m getting there.” She sighed again, and ran a hand through her hair. “I wanted to tell you all before you read about it in the _Prophet_ tomorrow. I don’t know what the reaction will be, and I really need your support.”

“Go on,” Neville said, giving her a smile. “I s’pose this means that you don’t have to pretend that you’re my sister?”

“I’m afraid so, Neville,” she replied. “But thank you again for the offer.”

“Huh?” Ron asked. With that, Hermione had to explain their conversation from the other day before she could continue.

“So it’s been confirmed by a few people now that I made the potion correctly, and that… I’m the illegitimate daughter…”

“Harsh,” Ron remarked. “Oh,” he added at Hermione’s look. “Sorry, `Mione.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said half-heartedly. “Anyway. My biological parents are… Abraxas Malfoy and Walburga Black. So…”

“What?” they all exclaimed.

“So Lucius Malfoy is my half-brother, and Sirius and Regulus are… _were_ also my half-brothers,” she finished, wincing.

Neville looked shocked, just sitting there. Ginny had turned pale. Ron and Harry, however, were both turning redder and redder.

“Then you’re… you’re related to _Malfoy_ ,” Harry said, his voice almost a hiss. Hermione flinched, and nodded slowly.

“I _am_ a Malfoy,” she said, pointing at her face. “My mother had put a Glamour on my nose, and Lucius removed it for me this afternoon.”

“On first-name terms, are you?” Ron asked. He looked as though steam was about to come out of his ears. “How very chummy.”

“He’s my _brother_ , Ronald! I can’t call him ‘Mr. Malfoy’. I can’t even bring myself to call our father that! Not that he wants anything to do with me,” she added in a whisper.

“Can’t say I blame him,” he said, standing. “So you’re one of _them_.” He started to leave.

“Ron! I’m Hermione Granger, no one else,” she said, darting forward to grab his arm. He shrugged it off, but stayed where he was. “I haven’t changed. Look, I’ll get someone to put the Glamour back on, if you like. But nothing—not heritage, not looks— _nothing_ can change me. Please believe…”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he said, and he left the room.

“I’d…” Ginny began, standing. Her voice was weak. “I’d better go after him.”

“Ginny,” Hermione said desperately, “you’re on my side, aren’t you? Don’t you understand?”

“Lucius Malfoy was responsible for me nearly dying,” she replied. “I can’t forget that. And… Ron’s my brother. I’m sorry, Hermione.” She slipped past, and down the stairs.

“Harry.” The black-haired boy was still sitting there, eyes furious as he glared at her. “Harry, please…”

“No, Hermione,” he said. “Those people you’re related to are Slytherins.”

“Sirius wasn’t a…”

“Don’t you dare speak his name!” he shouted.

“He’s my brother!” Hermione yelled back, the stress of the situation getting to her.

“He was my godfather, and one of my best friends!”

“Aren’t… aren’t I one of your best friends, too?” she asked, voice soft again. Harry shook his head. “No… no, please, Harry. I’m still the same person. Just different lineage. If this hadn’t happened, I’d still be me, wouldn’t I?”

“But this _has_ happened,” he said, looking as though he was trying keep his tone reasonable. “You’re related to the enemy.”

“Most purebloods are related to Slytherins, and the enemy is Voldemort, not my family,” she said. “I’m not your enemy, Harry.”

“Well, you look like it,” he said, and he stalked past her. Hermione dreaded facing her final Gryffindor friend. However, when she turned, she saw no angry countenance. Only an understanding face, and a friend who was patting the bed beside him. With an unrestrained sob, Hermione threw herself into Neville’s arms, and he held her close.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “Don’t cry, Hermione. They’ll come around. You’ll see.”

“Gods, I don’t want to go to breakfast in the morning, Neville.”

“Hey, you know what?” he asked. She shook her head. “We’re related.” She smiled into his shoulder. “We are. You’re… some kind of cousin to me. So you’re _almost_ a sister.”

She laughed, and they stayed there for a number of minutes before Parvati joined them.

“Is she okay?” she asked, nodding to Hermione. Neville shook his head, but Hermione spoke.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “But what do you think, Parvati? Are you against me, too?”

The twin squatted down in front of Hermione and Neville. She smoothed Hermione’s hair back, and tilted her face down so she could see her.

“You don’t look that different,” she said, cocking her head to the right. “The nose suits you, though. And it’s definitely the Malfoy nose. You shouldn’t be ashamed. Any friends who don’t accept you for who you are… well, they’re not friends, Hermione. Come on,” she continued, standing up. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

“Thanks. Bye, Neville. And thank you,” Hermione said, as she allowed herself to be led out of the room.

 

So, my faithful readers, Hermione’s day just seemed to be getting worse, with only a little light at the end of the tunnel. She retained two student allies, as far as she knew. Her two best friends, however, threw her over. This broke her; and it was just one of the many trials she would have to face.

What was in store for her future, you ask? Well, that would be telling. And I am disinclined to give too much away at the moment.

Suffice to say, breakfast certainly could not come slowly enough…


	11. Draco's Reaction

Dreading further bad reactions, Hermione left Gryffindor Tower early, and made her way down to the hall. And this, dear readers, was where Neville and Parvati found her, already poking at food. She had reflected on everything that had happened the previous night, when Ron, Harry, and Ginny all left. She had hopes for Ginny, and perhaps Harry; but Lavender was perfectly capable of turning Ron against her forever, something she knew she would always regret.

With an article due out in that morning’s _Daily Prophet_ , Hermione really needed the support that her new best friends were about to give her.

 

_The twin squatted down in front of Hermione and Neville. She smoothed Hermione’s hair back, and tilted her face down so she could see her._

_“You don’t look that different,” she said, cocking her head to the right. “The nose suits you, though. And it’s definitely the Malfoy nose. You shouldn’t be ashamed. Any friends who don’t accept you for who you are… well, they’re not friends, Hermione. Come on,” she continued, standing up. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?”_

_“Thanks. Bye, Neville. And thank you,” Hermione said, as she allowed herself to be led out of the room._

 

“There’s Luna,” Neville whispered, nudging Hermione. She turned, and saw the blonde drifting into the room.

“Thanks. I’ll be back,” she replied, and she hurried over to the Ravenclaw.

“Good morning, Hermione,” she said. “My, your nose has changed.”

“There’s a reason for that, Luna,” Hermione said. “Please don’t hate me, but… I’m actually a Malfoy. And a Black. I just found out a few days ago.” She gave her a quick account of all that had happened, with Luna just listening politely, nodding every so often.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said at the end of the story. “This explains your scepticism. But don’t worry. Wrackspurts make no distinctions between bloods. In fact, your nose may even appeal to them. It’s closer in shape to _their_ noses, you see.”

“I… see. So you don’t hate me?”

“Of course not,” she said, her large eyes blinking in surprise. “Why would I?”

“Most of the others do,” Hermione told her.

“Have you asked them all?”

“If Harry and Ron can turn against me…”

“Ah,” she said. “They’ll come `round. You’ll see.”

“And how long will that take?” Hermione sighed. “Thanks for your support. It’s coming out in the _Prophet_ today.”

“Perhaps you can sign my copy later?” Luna asked. Hermione laughed, gave her a hug, and nodded. Then she ran back to her place between Parvati and Neville.

“I take it that went well?” Parvati said. Hermione nodded, and tucked into her food properly now. She felt eyes on her, and her head swivelled this way and that. They seemed to be coming from that blank patch of wall near the doors. Strange. But then, this was a magical school. If walls could have ears, they could certainly have eyes.

“Mail’s here,” Neville said, and Hermione choked on her eggs. Her two Gryffindor friends patted her on the back at the same time, resting their hands on her back when she was settled. Then, realising that their hands were touching, quickly withdrew them. Hermione didn’t even noticed this interaction, as she was busy drawing out money to pay for her copy of the newspaper. She placed it in the owl’s money pouch, and unwrapped the paper. Over the next number of seconds, gasp after gasp sounded throughout the Great Hall as more and more people saw the headline:

**HERMIONE GRANGER A PUREBLOOD!**

She twisted in her seat, eyes seeking out her nephew to see his reaction. Neville and Parvati did the same, as did Luna. Draco raised an eyebrow at Hermione, and sniffed.

“He hasn’t read who my parents are yet,” she whispered. The pureblood narrowed his eyes, as if noticing that there was something different about her face, but then lowered his gaze to the article. He took a sip from his pumpkin juice just as he started to read.

They all knew the moment he read her parentage.

His eyes almost bulged out of his head, and he choked, spraying the drink across the table at Pansy Parkinson. She sputtered in disgust while Crabbe and Goyle almost broke Draco’s ribs by whacking him on the back. His face grew red as he continued to read the article, practically devouring it in his haste. Then he paled as he looked up, gaze meeting Hermione’s across the hall. It was her turn to raise a single eyebrow at him. Everyone watched in silence as he stood, and slowly made his way to the Gryffindor Table.

Professor Snape, while he watched the scene with apparent disinterest, surreptitiously reached for his wand. Lucius was doing the same thing where he stood near the doors to the Entrance Hall, Disillusioned.

Eventually, Draco came to a stop in front of Hermione. Even outside noises had stopped, as though they were also holding their breath.

“So,” he said, looking down his nose at hers. “You’re no longer a Mudblood.” Several people went for their wands, but Hermione remained calm.

“I never was, as it turns out,” she said. “Did you have to have one of your friends read the article to you?”

“Why, you… you… _filth_!” he hissed violently. She delicately wiped the spittle off her face, and glared at him.

“You,” she said, standing in her place, “will do well to remember that I am your father’s half-sister. As such,” and she grinned wickedly, “you will call me ‘Aunt Hermione’.” Several people snorted in laughter at this. Draco’s jaw dropped.

“I… you can’t tell me what to do!” he said. His shout didn’t affect her in the slightest. “I’ll call you whatever I like.”

“You will call me whatever your father says you may call me,” she replied.

“You’re just the bastard daughter of my grandfather and his _whore_ ,” Draco said, and was echoed by the jeers of his fellow Slytherins. Hermione gasped inaudibly, and forced back the tears that once again threatened to fall.

“You f-forget,” she said quietly, “that you are also r-related to that… lady. She is your mother’s aunt. Don’t blame _me_ for your… _our_ family’s penchant for inbreeding as though we were… pedigree dogs!”

With that, Hermione spun away and ran towards the doors of the Great Hall. Nobody had noticed Professor Snape exit the hall through the teacher’s door, and they were all so busy gossiping that they ignored the further exits of Luna, Neville, and Parvati, who ran out into the Entrance Hall in time to see Professor Snape holding Hermione, and waving his wand in the air.

The three students stopped when they Lucius come into view. He and Professor Snape both looked at them for a moment, before nodding at each other. Hermione was passed over to her brother’s arms, and Professor Snape led all five of them to his office.

 

What would happen next, you ask? Would Hermione garner more support? Would anything happen to Draco? Who else would go down to the dungeons that Sunday morning, intent on some kind of confrontation?

Yes, my readers. You have indeed had mixed feelings over Harry’s reaction. But Hermione would eventually come to empathise with her friend. After all, he wasn’t the first person in history to have revelation upon revelation stacked atop him, until he was ready to crack. And Hermione wouldn’t be the last.


	12. True Friends

The cruel words of her nephew had stung Hermione, and she found her only real comfort in the arms of her potions professor, who had enveloped her in his darkness when she ran crying from the hall. She was grateful to her brother for being there, too, but loved the unexpected warmth coming from the man who was holding her.

She was also grateful when others joined them, and they were taking into the seclusion of Professor Snape’s rooms. It was a good thing it happened to be a Sunday, and that there were no classes on.

 

_With that, Hermione spun away and ran towards the doors of the Great Hall. Nobody had noticed Professor Snape exit the hall through the teacher’s door, and they were all so busy gossiping that they ignored the further exits of Luna, Neville, and Parvati, who ran out into the Entrance Hall in time to see Professor Snape holding Hermione, and waving his wand in the air._

_The three students stopped when they Lucius come into view. He and Professor Snape both looked at them for a moment, before nodding at each other. Hermione was passed over to her brother’s arms, and Professor Snape led all five of them to his office._

 

They sat down by the fire, the professor Transfiguring some of his furniture so that there would be enough seating. He stoked the fire, since the students wouldn’t be used to the cold of the dungeons, and he could take the heat. Lucius made sure that Hermione was sitting beside him, stroking her back.

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said. Her voice was quiet, but everyone heard. “It was very kind of you to bring us here. In fact, you’ve been nothing but generous since this whole thing began.”

“Now that it has been established that you are no longer a Muggleborn, I am free to pay you more of the respect you deserve. Only the fact that you are a Gryffindor stands in the way of me being… properly supportive. Until now, I was unable to give credit where credit was due.”

Everyone stared at him, amazed. Everyone, that is, except Hermione. She gave him a small smile, and then nestled her head back on Lucius’ shoulder. She turned her head only a little to speak to her friends.

“You’ve also being true friends to me these last… well, it’s been just over twelve hours,” she said. “I mean, longer than that. But my only friends, really.”

“Well, if ever you feel the need to cheer up, just think about Draco’s face when he read the _Prophet_ ,” Lucius said, and the students laughed at that. Even Professor Snape had to cover a forbidden smile.

“I wish I could have seen Pansy Parkinson’s face, too,” Hermione admitted, and that prompted another burst of laughter. “Oh, but I hope Draco’s ribs aren’t broken.”

“I could belt him around the head for saying those things to you,” her brother said, any trace of humour leaving his face. He stood, and strode to the fire, much like Abraxas. “At least my… _our_ father’s reaction was… well, while not understandable, at least he didn’t use such language towards you. Of course, I should imagine that his rejection still hurts far worse.” He looked at Hermione out of the corner of his eye, and she nodded sadly.

“I wonder if I could convince the headmaster to bring back the old punishments that Filch is so fond of,” Professor Snape said, and Lucius noticed how tightly he was gripping the arms of his chair. “I’m sure Draco would benefit from some proper discipline. He shall receive no further favours from me, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And I’ll even… deduct points,” he said, sounding almost regretful, “from Slytherin.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my friend?” Lucius asked, feeling some of his amusement return.

There was a knock at the door then, and Professor Snape asked who it was.

“It’s Ginny, and… uh, friends. We’d like to speak with Hermione.”

“Come in here and talk, then,” he said, waving his hand to open the door. Ginny shuffled in, but only just over the threshold. “I can assure you, we are none of us leaving her alone.”

“I understand, sir. It’s just… what Malfoy said. It was despicable, sir, and I wanted to tell Hermione that she’s got my support,” the redhead told him. She gave Hermione a nervous smile, which was returned with an equally hesitant one. “And, with respect, she probably should have spoken with some of the other Gryffindors. Some aren’t very supportive, most don’t care… but two in particular wanted to come and give the support they would have last night, if they’d been able to.”

Harry and Ron? Hermione thought, sitting up straight. But she was only slightly disappointed when Colin and Dennis Creevey entered the room instead.

“We’re on your side, Hermione,” Colin said, beaming at her. “It’s just too bad that you’re still being bullied by Malfoy. But since he’s your nephew, that’ll stop eventually, won’t it?”

“You’ve always been so nice to us,” Dennis added, although his eyes kept flickering around the room nervously, as he was the youngest one there. “And you really helped us in Dumbledore’s Army, too, you know.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, but she didn’t stand. “It’s brilliant that you’re on my side. And… I’m glad you’re okay with this, Ginny.”

“Hey, you can’t help who you’re related to,” she said, glancing at Lucius. “I’m sorry I was so unsupportive yesterday. But I thought about it, and Ron’s always been a bit of a git. In fact, a lot of a git. Being with Lavender’s only made it worse. I thought about what Fred and George, and Bill and Charlie, would have done. They’d’ve been on your side. Families don’t always stick together… and you know what? We’re related anyway!”

“Miss Weasley,” Lucius said, and she looked at him, “I really must apologise for my actions four years ago. It means quite a lot to me that my sister has such friends.”

“I thought you might like to know that all three of us hexed your son,” she said boldly, “and no points were removed from Gryffindor. Will you be changing that, sir?” she asked Professor Snape, who shook his head slowly. She looked faintly surprised, but continued. “Instead, points were taken from Slytherin for swearing. Dumbledore… uh, Professor Dumbledore was so mad by the time we left to come here, that we could still hear him yelling.”

“How did you know where we were?” Luna asked.

“Padma led us here, but she had to return to her housemates,” she replied. “She knew where Parvati was, you see.”

“That’s incredible,” Neville said, impressed. Parvati blushed.

“Oh, well,” she said, “it’s a twin thing.”

“It’s right scary on Fred and George,” Ginny said. “Anyway, she also sends her support to you, Hermione.”

“Good to know that I have some true friends,” the bushy-haired girl whispered. “And I won’t have my nose Glamour put back on. Parvati was right last night, you know. I should be proud of who I am. And I intend to be.”

 

Readers, when Hermione resolves to do something, she most certainly does it. It would take awhile, but she would eventually find pride in the Black and Malfoy names, and perhaps even discover her own place in their family trees.

And where better a place to begin… than at a ball? After all, Christmas was only a matter of weeks away…


	13. An Invitation

With a few more people on her side, Hermione felt a bit better about her situation. Her potions professor was being wonderful to her, which was surprising. Christmas was approaching, and Hermione was in two minds about presents. Should she return the ones she bought for her friends, and use the money to get gifts for her new friends, and her family?

And who in the family should get presents? More than that, how would she afford it, when they were all purebloods, and could buy whatever they wanted?

 

_“That’s incredible,” Neville said, impressed. Parvati blushed._

_“Oh, well,” she said, “it’s a twin thing.”_

_“It’s right scary on Fred and George,” Ginny said. “Anyway, she also sends her support to you, Hermione.”_

_“Good to know that I have some true friends,” the bushy-haired girl whispered. “And I won’t have my nose Glamour put back on. Parvati was right last night, you know. I should be proud of who I am. And I intend to be.”_

 

Breakfast was a tense affair. Dean Thomas was on Hermione’s side as well, and some of the younger students still liked her. But others didn’t trust her, or were having trouble coming to terms with the surprise. Many of the Gryffindors had had the audacity to walk up to her, and actually stare at her nose. They nearly lost their own appendages when they tried to touch hers, with the excuse that they wanted to make sure that _this_ wasn’t a glamour.

“Insufferable,” she muttered to herself over breakfast. Just then, the mail arrived, and she started to open the newspaper when Lucius’ owl dropped a green envelope in front of her. She stared at the silver writing on the front. It was addressed to ‘Miss H. Granger’, rather than Hermione. And it looked as though a magicked quill had been used to write it.

However, when she read the piece of card on in the inside, she understood. It was an invitation to the Malfoy Christmas Ball. She gave a small smile, and pressed her finger to the drawn box that indicated acceptance. With that, the invitation disappeared.

“Nice,” she said. Monday was looking up.

Monday. Classes. She had to hurry! Potions was first.

Hermione behaved as normal in her lessons, blatantly ignoring any attempts to upset her, and quietly thanking her teachers at the end of each period. They were also trying to lessen her distress by handing out punishments to those deliberately attempting to provoke her. But Hermione was playing it cool, staying calm when she could, and spending her time in between classes thinking about what she would wear to the Malfoy’s ball.

And the end of the day, she was just leaving the Great Hall after dinner when she was waylaid by Harry and Ron.

“You realise they’re going to use you to get to Harry,” the redhead said, dragging her into the shadows. She yelped, but stopped struggling when she saw who it was.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “What’re you talking about, Ronald?”

“Your family will just use you to get at us,” he said.

“Harry, do you agree with him?” Hermione asked. His eyes met hers, and then he looked away. But he nodded, and she sighed.

“You know I wouldn’t do that, surely,” she said.

“But we _don’t_ know that,” Harry said, and their gazes connected again. “Voldemort would do anything to…”

“But I… we used to be friends, Harry! And I don’t want him winning this war any more than you do. For Merlin’s sake, look at Sirius! He died fighting for our side. Don’t you think I’d do the same? Do you honestly believe that I would betray the Light?”

“Willingly or unwillingly,” he replied, “it doesn’t matter. They’d just persuade you in the end. You’re awfully loyal to your parents; you always have been. With a change of family, who knows…”

“And you really think that? Really and truly?”

“It doesn’t matter what we think, or what you say,” Ron said, digging his wand into Hermione’s side. She gasped at the poke, and glared at him. “They’d be able to break you, anyway. What chance would you stand against them? You don’t do as well in Defence as you do in other subjects. Without Harry’s coaching last year, where would you be?”

“Maybe I’d be dead,” she said, nodding. “But at least I’d have died for the right cause.”

“Pettigrew broke, and turned on his friends,” Harry said angrily. “What makes you think you wouldn’t do the same thing?”

Tears came to Hermione’s eyes. “I could never do that. And just because neither of you want to be my friends anymore, doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t do it for my other friends. I’d never break under duress. And you know what?” She brushed away a tear. “I don’t think I could ever take either of you back as friends. You’ve shown more disloyalty to me than I have _ever_ shown towards either of you. Don’t you remember your fourth year, Harry?” she asked, her eyes pleading with him. “Ron turned against you, but I never did. I stood beside you when _everyone_ else was against you.”

“Yeah, well, things are different now,” Ron said, not allowing Harry to answer.

“What, because I’m no longer a Mudblood?” she asked, voice harsh. “Gods, you’re pathetic, Ron. Harry, if he can turn this easily against me, do you really suppose that he will remain on your side if you do one thing that he doesn’t like?”

“Ron’s been my friend longer than you have,” Harry said, shuffling. “Sorry, Hermione, but we can’t take the risk.”

“This isn’t about taking risks,” Ron said, his voice implying that his friend was completely missing the point. “This is about her being a Malfoy.”

“Oh yeah,” Hermione said, and she laughed bitterly. “I forgot about the whole, unreasonable hatred between the Malfoys and the Weasleys. Funny how it wasn’t a problem before, isn’t it? Was is it, Ron? Jealousy? Are you so concerned with material things?”

“Take that _back_ ,” he hissed.

“What’s going on here?” a deep voice asked, and Hermione let out the breath she hadn’t realised that she had been holding. She emerged from the darkness, and stood beside Professor Snape.

“Nothing, sir,” she said. “Actually,” she continued, improvising, “I was hoping you could help me. You see, I… Can I help you?” she asked her former friends as they stepped out into the light. “I thought not. Professor, perhaps we could talk in your office?”

“Of course, Miss Granger,” he said. “This way. Ten points each from Gryffindor for intimidating a fellow housemate.”

“Only _trying_ to intimidate,” Hermione corrected, her voice developing her brother’s drawl. She hoped this ticked off the boys. They had simply gone too far this evening, and she wanted to strike back at them without using violence.

“Indeed, Miss Granger. Come along, now.”

 

Being rescued by the potions master of Hogwarts is something most non-Slytherins would have dreaded, dear readers, as Hermione would now consider herself in debt to him. And she would indeed be asking him a favour that evening, something which would consequently bring her happiness, and a further change in her life.

Until then, farewell, dear ones.


	14. Further Kindness

What was wrong with Harry and Ron, dear readers? They had turned on Hermione, and had taken to threatening her in the corridors. This was just one isolated event that would lead to a drastic, future action on Hermione’s part; one that would have far-reaching consequences. Would it be for the better?

Only time would tell.

 

_“Of course, Miss Granger,” he said. “This way. Ten points each from Gryffindor for intimidating a fellow housemate.”_

_“Only trying to intimidate,” Hermione corrected, her voice developing her brother’s drawl. She hoped this ticked off the boys. They had simply gone too far this evening, and she wanted to strike back at them without using violence._

_“Indeed, Miss Granger. Come along, now.”_

 

“You are not as calm as you pretend to be, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape remarked once they were seated in the Potions classroom. He had conjured a chair for her, placing it in front of his desk, and placed wards and silencing charms on the room, until it was time for class. Hermione sighed, and twiddled her thumbs, before meeting his gaze.

“I just… I’m not entirely sure what to do, sir,” she said. “I thought that they’d at least support me. And I certainly didn’t expect Ron to have so much influence over Harry.”

“I hate to say it, Miss Granger, but friendships between boys can be stronger than their friendships with girls. There will be things that Potter can only talk about with Weasley. This makes the bond between them stronger. Also, am I correct in thinking that they have been friends with each other longer than they have with you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Further strength to the bond. Do you see what I mean?”

“Yes, sir. But still… it’s such a small thing. They’re being so petty.”

“They are teenage boys, Miss Granger, without the breadth of emotion that teenage girls have.”

“That’s true.” She sounded bitter.

“So, while it is certainly not forgivable, their reactions are somewhat understandable. Also, it is a well-known fact in the wizarding world that the Malfoys and Weasleys hate each other, though not for the reason you stated.” He raised an eyebrow, and she blushed. “They believe that family is more important than money. It is because they are from… different sides of the war. The Weasleys are blood traitors, something which the Malfoys cannot understand. You, despite your new ‘status’, as it were, have still been insulted by Draco. Considering your friendships and your house, you may well be seen as a blood traitor yourself before too long.”

“Yes,” she said, looking down at her hands again.

“Being one of Lucius and Narcissa’s friends, I am unwilling to say anything against them, particularly as they are your family. But they believe in blood purity. Unfortunately, as you now turn out not to be a Muggleborn, this will reinforce their beliefs that Purebloods really are superior.”

“Sorry.”

“For what? Because you are no longer the Muggleborn representative of Hogwarts?”

“Well… yes.”

“ _Never_ feel that way. You must not allow yourself to feel inferior. You do have something in your favour, after all.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “You were raised by two Muggles, and therefore do _not_ have the Pureblood advantages that most students have had. People like Draco have had the ideal magical upbringing, including toy broomsticks, toy wands, and even toy potions sets. They will have seen their parents and older siblings performing magic. Yes, you may have ‘pure’ blood; but you’ve only been learning magic since you were eleven.” He reached out a hand and took one of Hermione’s hands off the desktop. “You have got where you are through hard work, and _not_ through blood. Blood means nothing. You are aware that the Dark Lord is a half-blood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, so am I. But do you care about that?” Gaping, Hermione shook her head. “Then there we are.” He stroked her hand with his thumb, maintaining eye contact with her. She gave him a small smile, as she felt tears forming.

“Thank you, Professor Snape. You’ve really helped me. Can… can we talk further sometime? About… about this, about school, about anything? I just… I love my friends, but it’s a bit like Harry and Ron. I need some intelligent conversation, and you’ve been so nice, and…”

“Of course, Hermione.” He squeezed her hand, and then realised what he was doing. Horrified, he pulled away, and stood. With a flick of his wand, he dropped the wards and charms on the door. Hermione stood, flushed from Merlin knows what, and her teacher disappeared the chair.

“Is tonight all right?” she asked, and he turned to her from the blackboard.

“What?”

“After dinner? You know… to talk?”

“Uh… yes, yes.   Of course. Now go and sit down.”

Hermione obeyed, and hoping that Neville would arrive soon.

However, despite her nerves, she couldn’t wait for dinner to come and go.

 

With the tension building between Hermione and her potions professor, their after-dinner conversation was going to be interesting, to say the least. But fear not for Hermione’s safety, dear ones. She would be fine.

However, that is for the next chapter…


	15. The Professor

For some reason, quite unknown to her, Hermione cut dinner short, and ran upstairs to Gryffindor Tower, where she put every effort into making herself presentable. She tied her hair back in a green ribbon, wore her best jeans, a long-sleeved silver shirt, and her best robes. Before anyone could return, and comment on her clothes—not to mention raise questions—she hurried to the dungeons, grateful once again to the Marauder’s Map, and its creators.

And outside the door to Professor Snape’s quarters is where this chapter starts, dear readers.

 

_“Is tonight all right?” she asked, and he turned to her from the blackboard._

_“What?”_

_“After dinner? You know… to talk?”_

_“Uh… yes, yes.   Of course. Now go and sit down.”_

_Hermione obeyed, and hoping that Neville would arrive soon._

_However, despite her nerves, she couldn’t wait for dinner to come and go._

 

There was a timid knock at the door, and Professor Snape’s heart leapt, just as he jumped from his chair.

“Come in!” he called, wincing when his voice sounded higher than usual. Hermione entered the room, and closed the door behind her.

“Good evening, Professor,” she said, slowly meeting his eyes. “Thank you for seeing me. Uh, for letting me come here. I mean…”

“Perhaps,” he said, gaze trailing down her body, and then back up, “we would be able to conduct a more comfortable conversation in my quarters? Rather than in wooden chairs, separated by a desk. Armchairs by a fireplace sound far more appealing, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Please, lead on.”

He nodded, and she followed him through into a living room-type place, with bookshelves on three walls, only separated by doors, and other various pieces of furniture. Hermione gaped at the numerous tomes, providing dark splashes of colour against the cherry pine shelves. She gave herself a little shake, before seating herself in one of the large armchairs. Professor Snape called for a house elf, who brought them some tea. It was an echo back to the day they had lunch together in the staff room. They drank in silence. He broke it.

“You look… nice,” he said. She reddened. “Out of uniform, though.”

“Well, we’re not in class, sir.”

“No.” He drew in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. “No, we’re not.” He found his eyes wandering down her body again, and his hands shook, spilling some of the hot tea onto his right hand. “Damn it!”

“Are you all right, professor?” she asked, setting down her own cup, and jumping to her feet. She took his cup and saucer, and placed them beside hers, before taking the injured appendage into her hands. She stroked it, the tea already cooling in the air of the dungeons. “Here.” Hermione picked up a napkin, and dried off his hand. She then blew on the tender skin.

“I’m fine, really…”

“Just a moment.” She withdrew her wand, and cast a cooling spell over his fingers. He sighed, and then could have kicked himself.

This is Lucius’ little sister, he thought. But she’s being so gentle… her hands are so soft…

“No,” he said, accidentally out loud. Then he had to say something more, when he saw her hurt look. “It’s… it’s fine, Hermione. Miss Granger. I’ll just rub some mild burn salve into it later.”

“The sooner the better,” she said. “Do you not want my help? I could get Madame Pomfrey…”

“No. It’s, uh, it’s in the bathroom. Over there.” He pointed, and Hermione nodded, leaving the room. Groaning, he placed his head in his uninjured hand. He hadn’t told anyone about this meeting—not even Dumbledore. Goodness knows what people might think. He had to think of some plausible excuse for her presence here. What would people believe?

“I’ve got it,” she said, returning. She unscrewed the lid, and he held out his hand. She scooped some of the gel-like substance onto her fingers, and began to rub it in as gently as she could, determined not to aggravate the wound. At least it had only been tea, hot though it was. She hoped that, should the house elves hear about what happened, they wouldn’t feel to blame, and begin to punish themselves.

Finally, the burns were healed, though Hermione continued the rub the skin, just to make sure. Or so they told each other. Once the salve was thoroughly rubbed in, though, she pulled back, and put the lid back onto the container. To continue would look suspicious.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome, sir. I’m just happy that I was able to help.”

“Indeed.” He waved his hand, now without pain, and the burn salve returned to its place in the bathroom. “That was beyond the call of duty, though.”

“Yes,” she said, bowing her head as she sat back in her armchair. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to take such a liberty.”

“Take a liberty? You were simply helping your teacher. It is most commendable. Fifteen points to Gryffindor.”

“Fifteen? That’s generous.”

“You would rather it be fewer?”

“No! Gosh, no.” She blushed again. “Uh… I was wondering, sir.”

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“Could you help me? You’d know best, you see. About what to do.”

“You will have to be more coherent if you wish for my help.”

“I’ve been invited to the Malfoy Christmas Ball, and I don’t know if there’s anything special expected of me. If there is, I don’t want to alienate my family by not getting it right. I don’t want to embarrass them. I was hoping that you could help.”

Perfect excuse to see her! Professor Snape thought triumphantly. He wanted to grin, but instead settled on raising an eyebrow.

“Why not ask Lucius?”

“Well, you’re here, sir. And you’d see it from an outsider’s perspective. Uh, you don’t mind my saying that, do you?”

“Not at all. You want someone who has had to learn, who hasn’t been brought up in the pureblood way.”

“And you’re perfect, sir. For that, I mean.” Her flush deepened, and she looked away. “Obviously, you’re also a wonderful person, I’m sure, but I just…”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Miss Granger,” he said. “Thank you for the compliment, inaccurate though it is. As to your dilemma, I am certainly the person to help you. You were right in asking me. We can meet as often as you like, and I can give you private lessons in the way to behave in pureblood society.”

“Oh, _thank_ you, Professor Snape! I couldn’t take up so much of your time, though.”

“Why? How frequently _do_ you wish to see me? Surely not too often. I’m a Slytherin, after all.”

“And I’m only the Gryffindor swot,” she said, almost angry. “I can understand if you have more important things to do…”

“Did I say such a thing? I was unaware that I did.” He finally allowed himself a smile, and leaned forward. “Whatever you may think of my social life, outside of classes and staff meetings, it is relatively non-existent. Yes, there is work for me to do. I have books that Lucius has given me in the past, books that can also help you. While I work, you could read those, and we can talk to give each other a break.”

“I… that sounds brilliant, professor.”

“Good.” He leaned back again. “Now, what were you planning to wear to the ball? Have you discussed it with anyone yet?”

“I hardly like to betray my house by wearing only Slytherin colours; but it might be a bit much to wear a dress in _Gryffindor_ colours.”

“What about the gown you wore to the Yule Ball?”

“I would require it to be adjusted, since it doesn’t fit anymore.”

“You’re not much taller, and I wouldn’t have thought that you’ve put on any weight…”

“Uh… I’m not talking about the waist or the length, sir.” Her gaze flitted down to her chest, and his eyes widened.

“Oh! I see. Well, you may want to purchase something new, anyway. Make a good impression by not wearing something you’ve worn before, particularly as this was only two years ago.”

“Good point. Maybe I should ask Lucius to ask Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Narcissa. You will probably be requested to call her by her first name. You are of the same generation as Lucius. Family-wise, not… era-wise. Otherwise you’d be of my generation, too, and you don’t want to be that old.”

“But you’d only be in your thirties, sir.”

“I’m nineteen years older than you.”

“But that doesn’t matter to me, sir.”

“So… age isn’t a factor?” he asked, almost nervous as he looked at her. She gasped quietly.

“W-well, no. Of course it doesn’t. It never should be a factor… between friends.” He felt his heart sink, and was confused by the sensation. Why should it? She was just his student, nothing more. Friends, yes. That would be good.

“Friendship,” he said, nodding. “We can be friends if you like. Secretly, of course.”

“Then will you dance with me at the ball? To make sure I don’t do anything wrong?”

“In that case, I think I should ask you for the first dance.”

“Oh,” she said, smiling brightly. “Yes, I’d like that, too. I accept, professor.”

He smiled. Things were looking up.

 

Yes, things were looking up, readers. Not just for Professor Snape, but for Hermione. It looked as though she was about to gain a new friend, and an instructor in the pureblood ways. And perhaps… something more?

Time would tell.


	16. Christmas Arrives

The few weeks preceding Christmas flew by, readers, until holidays were upon the staff and students. Hermione had bought the most appropriate presents she could think of for her few loyal friends, and bought a terrific selection of sweets for the staff Christmas party, since they had been equally supportive. Lucius had promised to buy family presents on her behalf, just to settle her mind, so that she’d be prepared for next year.

Now, my friends, Professor Snape was waiting for Hermione in the Entrance Hall, as he would be escorting her to Malfoy Manor in the carriage that had been sent.

And what a treat they were both in for…

 

_“Friendship,” he said, nodding. “We can be friends if you like. Secretly, of course.”_

_“Then will you dance with me at the ball? To make sure I don’t do anything wrong?”_

_“In that case, I think I should ask you for the first dance.”_

_“Oh,” she said, smiling brightly. “Yes, I’d like that, too. I accept, professor.”_

_He smiled. Things were looking up._

 

Professor Snape was in his best dress robes. Well, dress robes hired from a place in Hogsmeade. They were the best he could afford, since most of his money went to more practical, everyday things. Why buy elegant clothes when he wore them only a few times per year? In fact, only for the Christmas ball.

He tied back his hair with a silver ribbon, as always, and wore polished black boots. He made sure that his white shirt and black slacks were pristine, and that his hair was washed.

Finally, with a sigh, he left his rooms, wearing the travelling cloak Lucius had given him three Christmases ago, a silver snake clasp keeping it in place. Draco had gone home for the holidays, and as punishment for his words to Hermione, had been made to do the work of a house elf.

In fact, to Professor Snape’s amusement, the house elves had been given a week off. This was, no doubt, in deference to Hermione’s views on slavery.

Yes, it was terribly amusing, as you can imagine. Draco had even written to his godfather to complain.

He had received a cutting reply in the form of a Howler. When Lucius and Narcissa had heard it, they immediately burst out laughing, and sent an owl of thanks to their old friend, and a vial with their memory of hearing it, and what they saw of their son’s reaction. He had emerged from Dumbledore’s Pensieve chuckling.

Now he was waiting to take his secret friend—with no hope of it ever being more—to the ball. She had indeed decided to consult with others as to a gown. When she told him that, it was the last they spoke of it, other than when he showed her how to hold it while waltzing.

A couple of weeks of training her in the easiest, and most-performed, dances, and teaching her pureblood etiquette… well, let’s just say that he was most definitely falling for his student. And that was bad. Very bad. It couldn’t be allowed to continue. Which was why he was more grateful than ever before for the holidays, and thus the end of their private lessons.

He heard footsteps, and looked up the staircase. Without warning, his mouth dropped open.

There she was.

Black shoe-covered feet delicately descending the stairs.

Legs in white stockings, or perhaps knee-highs.

A long gown of forest green and blood red, the colours melding together like marble.

Gold trim adorning the hems, cuffs, and collar.

Lace, made of fine, very fine, yellow gold, covering the bodice’s low neckline.

Black travelling cloak with golden lion clasp.

Heart-shaped locket made of rose and yellow gold.

And that face. Little makeup, sleeked hair, and a bewitching smile.

“Hermione,” he said, his voice hoarse. She paused mid-step, her breath catching as she stared down at her professor.

“Sir,” she whispered, almost breathless. Her foot slipped as she moved down, and she yelped as she clutched at the banister. Professor Snape knew that he had never moved so fast before, not even when he was a teenager. She had regained her footing with little trouble, but he insisted on walking her down the stairs, offering her his arm. They never spoke; not as they finished their descent; not as they passed the teachers leaving the Great Hall; not as they stepped down into the grounds. Just as they never spoke, their eyes never strayed from each other.

It wasn’t until he helped her into the carriage that she parted her lips again.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. His hand tightened around hers.

“Call me ‘Severus’ this evening,” he said, and she nodded before taking the final step. He followed her, closed the door behind, and tapped on the roof. As the coach took off, he fell onto the seat beside her.

“Then you must call me ‘Hermione’, and not ‘Miss Granger’. You know… like you did before?” She flushed, and he turned his face away, hoping that she wouldn’t see his own complexion redden.

“Indeed.” It was the only thing he could think of to say.

For awhile they rode in silence, the countryside flashing by below them. Hermione was reminded of the Beauxbatons carriages in her fourth year. These winged horses were of the Granian breed; grey-coated, and fast. The carriage itself was silver and black, with the Malfoy family crest embossed on the side.

“Do you,” she said, and his head whipped around. She swallowed. “Is there somewhere I can hide in the manor? Just in case I need to… escape from it all?”

“There are many places, but you can easily get lost,” he said. “If it is of any comfort, I could remain your escort for the evening. Stay by your side, unless you are dancing with… with someone else.” He grimaced at the idea. “Then, if you wish to find somewhere to hide, I can take you wherever you like.”

“Do you have a bolthole, somewhere to go where no one can find you? Somewhere secret?”

“You are speaking of someplace outside of Malfoy Manor, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“Hermione,” he said, a glint entering his eyes, “if I told you, it would no longer remain secret.”

“I wish I had such a place,” she said, turning her gaze to the darkening landscape. “But I could not endanger my parents by going to them. The adopted ones, I mean.”

“What about… headquarters?” he said, speaking as quietly as he could into her ear. She barely noticed his words, as she was concentrating on his breath. The tingles it created…

“Uh.” She gulped again. “I s-suppose so. But will you not tell me your secret hideout?”

“Hmm.” He looked her up and down, using the chance to examine—up close—the figure that the clothes revealed. He cleared his throat. “If ever I believe that you have a need… then yes. I believe I shall one day tell you. But we are nearing the manor, and I wish you to answer some questions about etiquette, to make sure that you are ready.”

“For the ‘delights’ of high society, Severus?” she asked, grinning. He smirked back.

“Yes, Hermione.”

 

The eleventh hour—well, the seventh hour, in literal terms—was nigh. Bedecked in a splendid gown the combined both Slytherin and Gryffindor house colours, and with her professor on her arm, Hermione would be rather the spectacle that most of the guests hoped she would turn out to be.

Especially the members of the press who were present…


	17. Introductory Dance

When last we met, fair readers, Hermione and Professor Snape had arrived at Malfoy Manor in style. They left the carriage, and basked in the warmth briefly before going to the door that led to the ballroom.

 

_“Hmm.” He looked her up and down, using the chance to examine—up close—the figure that the clothes revealed. He cleared his throat. “If ever I believe that you have a need… then yes. I believe I shall one day tell you. But we are nearing the manor, and I wish you to answer some questions about etiquette, to make sure that you are ready.”_

_“For the ‘delights’ of high society, Severus?” she asked, grinning. He smirked back._

_“Yes, Hermione.”_

 

There was a great light emanating from the numerous candles in the ballroom. Two buffets and a drink table lined three of the walls, clumps of people grouping around the room, and someone standing at the door to announce those who arrived. Professor Snape led Hermione on his arm to the doorway. The announcer turned around when he heard their approach.

“Professor Severus Snape and Miss Hermione Granger,” the professor said. The announcer looked surprised, but turned to the room, and tapped his staff on the floor.

“Professor Snape and Miss Granger,” he said, and the music stopped. This was what people had been waiting for: Hermione’s arrival. They stared at her, and immediately began whispering. Her hand tightened on her teacher’s arm. Professor Snape looked down at her. She unstuck her feet from the floor, and walked with him to Lucius and Narcissa. Lucius greeted his sister with a kiss on each cheek.

“Hermione,” he said. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife, and your cousin.”

Hermione suppressed a laugh. She’d forgotten that, too. She held out her right hand.

“Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy,” she said. “Thank you for inviting me.” Narcissa accepted the shake, and then nodded at Professor Snape, who bowed.

“Thank you both for coming,” she said. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Hermione. Please, call me ‘Narcissa’.”

“Very well. How is Draco?”

“He’s over there, if you want to find out for yourself,” Lucius said, tilting his head to one corner, where there were a few of the Slytherin students watching the group that was the centre of the room’s attention.

“Maybe later.”

Lucius indicated that the musicians start playing again. Professor Snape turned to his student.

“A dance, Hermione?”

“Of course, Severus.” There were gasps, but neither noticed as they took to the floor. Lucius frowned, and looked at Narcissa. She gave him a passive look, and used one of their small signals—a tap on the back of his hand with her middle finger—to get his attention. It meant ‘let’s dance’—the middle finger—‘to diffuse the situation’—back of the hand. He nodded, and they began to dance as well.

Soon, the little incident was being ignored, for the most part, as people waltzed around the ballroom. Hermione and her escort certainly didn’t notice anyone around them, only dimly registering them as obstacles to avoid. As this was the Christmas Ball, no one was allowed to cut in on others, so they didn’t have to think about any interruptions. No. At this moment, it was just Severus and Hermione; and they were a sight to behold.

Cameras flashed, not just those taking pictures for memories, photographs usually released into the press the next day; but, as mentioned earlier, members of the press were there to see Hermione Granger. Illegitimate child. ‘Former’ Muggleborn. Best friend of Harry Potter.

And now she was dancing with one of her professors.

“I do not wish to break the silence,” Professor Snape—for now, Severus—said. “But you are you doing well, Hermione. And you look lovely.”

She blushed. “Thank you, sir. Uh, Severus. You look wonderful, too. Very handsome.”

“Do not feel obliged to compliment me back.”

“But you said that that was the done thing…”

“And I also told you not to lie.”

Hermione found herself looking at the ground as they passed over it. One hand was warm on her waist; the other cradled her hand ever so gently. Bravely, she raised her head, and their eyes met once again. “I… I wasn’t lying, Severus. I was just giving my honest opinion. Believe it or not.” She turned her gaze away to some point over his shoulder, praying for a speedy end to the song; something she hadn’t wanted when he first took her into his arms.

Soon, the dance finished, and Hermione curtsied hastily. Severus lingered over his bow, frowning, but led her to the side of the ballroom. Lucius and Narcissa joined them, and Hermione was swept into the next number with her brother, while Narcissa questioned Severus over the carriage ride to the manor.

“I am concerned for you, that is all,” Lucius told Hermione. “You are only sixteen…”

“Seventeen. I’m almost a year older than Harry.”

“Ah, yes. At least you are of age.” He added this in a mutter.

“What are you talking about, Lucius?”

“I trust Severus gave you permission to use his first name?”

“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t have used it otherwise.”

“Quite.” He sighed. “Severus does not have a stellar history with women, Hermione. They only use him for their own gain. The only appreciation for his intellect. They never desire intelligent conversation for the _sake_ of intelligent conversation. He does not have the classic good lucks, at least as most would see them.”

“But I… oh, why are you saying these things?” she asked. “What should they matter to me?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” Lucius said. “Forget that I spoke on the matter. Only gather these thoughts of yours together, sister dear. Many people noticed how intensely you were looking at each other while dancing, not to mention the familiarity between you two.” She flushed. “There are journalists and photographers here, more than we anticipated. It is a pity that the ball has come so soon after these revelations. Perhaps we should have had some sort of ‘coming out’ or debutante party or ball for you after the news was released? There would be less pressure on this occasion, then.”

“I’m sorry this has proven to be such a nuisance.”

“It is no nuisance. Father never attends these Christmas Balls anymore, so need not fear the risk of running into him.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Father. I just wish I could see him again, now that things have calmed down.”

“Hermione, I swear that I will contact you should he wish to see you.” They danced in silence for another minute, before he spoke again. “He gets especially depressed around this time of year. In 1985, Walburga Black—your biological mother—died not long after Christmas. He took it hard. Well.” He gave a short laugh. “Now we know why.”

“Not so,” she said. “When would this have started? Before 1979, of course.”

“Perhaps there is someone you could ask?”

“Hmm.” She thought, and then remembered. “Professor McGonagall was going to tell me something. Perhaps I’ll ask her again? We were interrupted last time.”

“What a good idea,” he said. The dance ended, and they bowed and curtsied. Someone tapped Hermione on the shoulder, and she turned around. It was Severus, looking somewhat shame-faced.

“May I have this dance, Hermione?” he asked quietly. Dumbstruck, she nodded, and Lucius half-smiled before moving away.

 

There was still awhile left to the ball, and many more things would happen before the night was out. But that is for future chapters, dear readers. Where is the fun in revealing too much at once? Precisely.


	18. Some Apologising

Readers, the Christmas ball had begun, and tensions were high. There was far more agreeable tension, my dears, between Hermione and Professor Snape, who had asked her to call him ‘Severus’ for the evening. When he refused to accept a genuine compliment from her, however, he had remained angry until the end of the dance, before handing her over to Lucius.

To add to Hermione’s emotional confusion, her brother then began to allude to the attraction between her and her professor.

 

_“Hmm.” She thought, and then remembered. “Professor McGonagall was going to tell me something. Perhaps I’ll ask her again? We were interrupted last time.”_

_“What a good idea,” he said. The dance ended, and they bowed and curtsied. Someone tapped Hermione on the shoulder, and she turned around. It was Severus, looking somewhat shame-faced._

_“May I have this dance, Hermione?” he asked quietly. Dumbstruck, she nodded, and Lucius half-smiled before moving away._

 

They danced in silence for awhile, Hermione keeping her eyes on her professor’s chest, not wanting to appear distant, but too nervous to look him in the eyes again. And especially after her brother’s comment. But Severus cleared his throat, and her gaze rose to his. They both paused in their dancing, before resuming at a particularly loud chord.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sorry that I was so… ungracious towards you, when you were just being kind.”

“I wasn’t just being kind, sir. And I’m sorry, too. Sorry that you feel that that was the case, when it really isn’t. I do genuinely like you, sir, and not just because of your recent kindness to me. I admire you, and I _do_ think that you’re handsome. In your own way. Lucius agreed with me on this.” She blushed at the penetrating stare which she received.

“Indeed?”

“Yes. Please believe me. Could you imagine me to be so unkind?”

“Miss Granger, could we have a photo?” She turned, still in her professor’s arms, just in time to be half-blinded by a camera going off. When the stars left her eyes, she saw Rita Skeeter just behind the grinning cameraman. Hermione scowled at her.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asked.

“What do you think?” Ms. Skeeter said, looking like the Kneazle that got the cream. “Do tell me, Miss Granger. What exactly is your relationship with Severus Snape? The same kind of relationship you have had with both Harry Potter and Viktor Krum?”

“And to think we’d got past this,” Hermione muttered to herself as the music stopped, and the guests turned to watch. “Yes, I suppose so,” she said loudly. “Just as with Harry, _and_ with Viktor, there is nothing going on. No romances, no supposedly broken hearts. Nothing like that. Just…”

“What? Friendship, between a student and a teacher?” The Quick Quotes Quill was going nearly overboard making notes. “Don’t you think that’s over-stepping boundaries?”

“And do you not think that _you_ are over-stepping boundaries through your actions here?” Severus asked. He and Hermione had let go of each other as soon as the questions started. “Surely you are not here to interrogate one of the Malfoys’ guests? Or have you forgotten how much influence Lucius can have over your career as a consequence? Not the most intelligent manoeuvre you could have made, _Ms._ Skeeter.”

She sneered at him briefly, before returning her attention to Hermione. “I am sure that no one here could possibly deny the chemistry between the two of you. Did you not just say that your professor is ‘ _handsome_ ’?” Hermione flushed. “And it would be a mistake on _your_ part, my dear Hermione, to suppose that everyone here is on your side.”

“She is _not_ your Hermione!” Severus hissed.

“Do you suppose that I wish the support of the people who have actively—and inactively—sought to destroy people like me?” Hermione said. “Because I am just as much a Muggleborn as I ever have been. Raised by Muggles, loved by Muggles, persecuted because of my supposed kinship to Muggles. I have nearly been killed before; and until all of this came out, any of them would have murdered me happily, without knowing my true heritage. I am not one of _them_.” She felt tears come to her eyes. “And I never will be. But you know what? That’s fine by me.” She stepped forward. “Go ahead. Quote me on that.”

With that last comment, she ran out of the room. Severus didn’t even pause. He wandlessly hexed both the photographer and Rita, before hurrying out after Hermione. He followed the sounds of sobs, and came upon her in the shadows.

“Hermione?”

“I want to get away from here.”

“It will take awhile for the carriage to be prepared.”

“Then let’s Apparate out of here.” He raised an eyebrow. “What? I need an escort. Give me your hand, S-severus. I can hear people coming.”

Instead of giving her his hand, he linked their arms together. Within seconds, they found themselves somewhere he didn’t recognise.

“Where are we?”

“A safe distance from number twelve. I want to go and speak to my… my mother.”

They walked until they reached the park; and less than a minute later, they were standing on the porch of Grimmauld Place, Number Twelve. Hermione unlocked the door using Alohomora, and they entered the hall quietly. Severus lit the candles, and the curtains of the portrait sprung open.

Before Walburga Black could begin to yell, her illegitimate daughter turned to face her.

“Hello, Mother.”

The usually vitriolic portrait was speechless. Her mouth opened and closed several times, until her gaze zeroed in on Hermione’s nose.

“You lifted the Glamour.”

“No. My brother Lucius did. Care to tell me how I came about?”

Walburga looked over her daughter’s shoulder to Severus, who merely leaned back against the wall, raising an eyebrow. “Leave us.”

“He’s staying,” Hermione said, holding her hand out behind her. Obediently, her professor walked forward, and slipped his hand into hers. Hermione’s eyelids dropped, and her breathing quickened. She moistened her lips, and looked up at the portrait of her mother. “I’ve seen my father.”

“I see.”

“He hates me.”

“Yes,” Walburga said, and she looked down at her painted hands. “But I rather think he’s more angry at me, than hateful of you. You are, after all, his daughter.”

“And yours.”

“And mine.”

“Why?” Hermione whispered. “Why? How did this happen? The affair, I mean. And why would you give me up?”

“I died when you were only five years old, and I would have had no one to support me. Once married, I could not marry again, even as a widow. Otherwise, Abraxas and I…”

“You would have what?”

“We wouldn’t have had to be so secretive.”

“But if I recall correctly, your husband—Orion Black—died the year of my birth. So this actually has nothing to do with…”

“Fine!” she shouted, raising her hands. “Very well, Miss… Granger, isn’t it?”

“Hermione Granger, yes.”

“Of course,” she whispered. “I had to give you to Muggles, and I feel so remorseful about that.”

“Because you had to give me to people you would consider ‘filth’? Because you were ashamed to be pregnant and unmarried to a widower?”

“No! Because I loved you, and didn’t want to give you up!”

“Then why _did_ you?” Hermione asked, stepping forward, and pulling Severus behind her. He unconsciously put his other hand on her hip, drawing her back towards his body. Walburga watched this suspiciously, but returned her attention to her daughter’s question.

“I agree with the Dark Lord’s ambitions, because they are right and proper,” she said.

“They are _not_ …”

“Do you wish to hear my reason?” Hermione shut her mouth mutinously. “Do you ever wonder why so few children were born to Death Eaters and their wives? _He_ will know to what I am referring.” She nodded at Severus, and he bowed his head. Yes, he had forgotten that.

“It is also the reason some of the girls in Slytherin are unattractive,” he said. “Special Glamours were placed on them before they were even born. While on the side of the Dark, they will remain ugly.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Walburga said, “the Dark Lord wished for a bride, and he wanted someone young and unsullied by Dark Magic. He also wanted someone willing, and pretty. It was his intention to pick a child born to parents from his inner circle. When they reached the age of seven, he would decide whether or not they were worth it.” Hermione was looking horrified. “I could never do that to you; because, legitimate or not, you would have gone onto his list of possibles. No matter how long the war went on, I would not wish such a thing.”

“And now? What if he comes after me now?”

“Hermione, you are on the side of the Light,” Severus reminded her. “You’re safe from that fate.”

“Then why would the other parents…”

Just then, a scroll appeared in the thin air. It had Hermione’s name on it. She gasped when she saw the St. Mungo’s seal, and proceeded to rip it open.

“What is it?” Walburga asked, watching her daughter’s tears well up again.

“It’s Father… I mean, Mr. Malfoy. He’s contracted dragon pox.” She rolled up the parchment. “I must go to him.”

 

And so Hermione and Professor Snape Apparated away to the hospital, to find out just how serious Abraxas Malfoy’s case was. Dragon pox—if you know your medicine, dear readers—had been known to kill older people. And with the stress he had been through lately, not to mention that he was particularly weak around this time of year…

Things were not looking good for Hermione’s father.


	19. St. Mungo's

Worrying news had reached Hermione at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Her father was gravely ill, and she had been antagonised by the press yet again, led by Rita Skeeter. After a revealing conversation with her mother, she had received the scroll from St. Mungo’s, and left right away.

 

_Just then, a scroll appeared in the thin air. It had Hermione’s name on it. She gasped when she saw the St. Mungo’s seal, and proceeded to rip it open._

_“What is it?” Walburga asked, watching her daughter’s tears well up again._

_“It’s Father… I mean, Mr. Malfoy. He’s contracted dragon pox.” She rolled up the parchment. “I must go to him.”_

 

The Christmas Ball had wound up as soon as news reached Lucius of his father’s illness, and admittance to the wizarding hospital. He was surprised to see Hermione and her potions professor appear in the reception area of St. Mungo’s; but then he reminded himself of his sister’s well-known compassion. He saw her look around frantically, until her eyes fell on him. Narcissa had stayed at the manor to make sure that everyone was cleared out before coming to join her husband.

“Lucius,” Hermione said, before running into his arms.

“Here we are, still in all our finery,” he said, trying to bring some humour to the situation. “Hey.” He pulled back, and saw tears tracking down Hermione’s cheeks. “What…”

“I wanted to talk to him just once more,” she said, her voice shaking. “And now I won’t be able to.”

“I am sure he will pull through. He _has_ been through worse before.”

“When he was younger, maybe. But if I hadn’t… if I hadn’t visited him…”

“None of this is your fault,” Lucius said, shaking her by the arms. Hermione sniffed. “Severus, look after her. I’m going to find out what’s happening.”

Professor Snape nodded, and pulled Hermione over to a chair. Christmas being a busy time, there were a lot of people around. Seats were being taken up so quickly that he had to pull her into his lap, since there was nowhere else for her to perch. In the end, it was a good thing, because she began to tremble, trying to suppress sobs. He cradled her body to his, whispering comforting things.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome, Miss Granger,” he said.

They didn’t think to look up when the sound of Apparation echoed around the lobby. But the flash of a camera caught their attention, just as he was kissing the top of her head.

It was Rita Skeeter.

“She _would_ have to hear about Father’s sickness, wouldn’t she?” Hermione muttered. Then it hit her, the compromising situation that they were in. But before either could start firing hexes, the journalist and the photographer had disappeared again. Everyone fell silent. Finally, whispers broke out.

“That will be all over the front of _The Daily Prophet_ tomorrow,” Professor Snape said.

“Yes.”

“And nothing will be said about Abraxas Malfoy’s dragon pox.”

“Despite the fact that we’re clearly in St. Mungo’s.”

“Come now, Miss Granger. You know how photographs can be manipulated in the Muggle world. Did it never occur to you that the same thing could happen in the wizarding world?”

“Well, no. People move in the pictures here.”

“I won’t make a wager with you, but just wait.”

“I’ve got news,” Lucius said, hurrying over to them. Hermione stood, wiping furiously at her cheeks. Both men drew handkerchiefs for her; but as Professor Snape’s was closer, she accepted it with a smile of thanks.

“This news?” she asked. Her brother slowly put his hanky away, looking between his sister and his friend.

“Ye-es. It is worse than I thought, but he can still be saved, according to the Healers. However, they don’t sound confident, and they want you to be there when they explain how he might be healed.”

“You mean there’s only one way?”

“It sounds like it. Are you coming?”

“Stupid question, Lucius. Lead the way. Uh… Professor Snape can be there, too, can’t he?”

“Of course,” Lucius said. “But come along. We must hurry.”

They gathered into the office of the Healer in charge of Abraxas Malfoy’s case. His name was Healer Pentacular. Once Hermione was seated, he spoke.

“There’s only one way to save your father, I’m afraid,” Pentacular said, looking from one sibling to the other. “If this cannot be done, he _will_ die.”

“No,” Hermione whispered. She crossed her right arm up to her left shoulder, where Professor Snape had placed one of his hands. He had meant it as a supportive gesture; however, Lucius suspected that it might be more.

“How do we save him?” the blonde man said.

“Potions will only go so far. He’s become badly infected, and needs a blood transfusion.”

“Oh! We have those in the Muggle world,” Hermione said, feeling a bit brighter now that she was in reasonably familiar territory.

Pentacular nodded. “You two are his only close relatives, I assume?”

“Let us hope so,” Lucius muttered. “Any more illegitimate children running about, and I will fear for the wizarding population of Britain.”

“Not to mention the family’s reputation,” Professor Snape said, but he wiped the half-smirk off his face at his friend’s glare. “Sorry.”

“Do I have your permission to test both of you for blood types? We need a match.”

“Of course,” Lucius said. Hermione nodded her agreement. Healer Pentacular drew his wand, and waved it first over the son, and then the daughter. Light circled around the latter, but not the former.

“Miss Granger is the only match,” Pentacular said. Lucius paled, and the professor squeezed his student’s shoulder.

“Sir, you’re hurting me.”

“She can’t do it,” Lucius said as Professor Snape lightened his grip. “She’s too young. I won’t allow it.”

“You’re not my father!” Hermione said, standing.

“No, but I’m you’re brother…”

“You’re only my _half_ -brother. And I want to do this.”

“Hermione, he wouldn’t do the same for you.”

“But he is half the reason that I exist!” She turned to Pentacular. “I give you permission to perform a blood transfusion to save my father.”

“Hermione…”

“Shut up, Lucius. I’m doing this.” She squared her shoulders, and the Healer nodded.

Less than half an hour later, Hermione was out of her ball gown, into an operating gown, and was being wheeled through to an operating theatre. Abraxas was unconscious, having been given a strong pain relief potion. Narcissa had shown up ten minutes ago, and her husband filled her in on what was happening.

Professor Snape had volunteered to hold Hermione’s hand during the transfusion if she wanted him to.

She did. Desperately.

“I’m here,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry.”

“I won’t,” she said, and she smiled at him. “As you said… you’re here.”

With that, they began.

 

A magical transfusion took place. They would both come out of it alive and well; however, many confusing and hurtful things would happen to torment Hermione further. But, my dear readers, that is—once again—for another chapter.

Until then, good night.


	20. No Visiting

There is something, my dears, that must be said when it comes to wizarding hospitals: they work differently from Muggle ones. Blood transfusions are rarely performed, a fact which Hermione was made acquainted with very quickly. Anyone with magic in their blood, magic which has been trained, must have special precautions taken. The more powerful they are, the more protection must be placed.

As stated in the previous chapter, things went well. Hermione had secretly been glad that things had been so serious, as she had her potions master in contact with her the whole time, there to ‘comfort her’.

 

_Professor Snape had volunteered to hold Hermione’s hand during the transfusion if she wanted him to._

_She did. Desperately._

_“I’m here,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry.”_

_“I won’t,” she said, and she smiled at him. “As you said… you’re here.”_

_With that, they began._

 

The Weasleys were waiting in St. Mungo’s waiting room, minus Ron and Percy, who were still peeved with Hermione and estranged from the family respectively. Harry had almost come with them, but ended up staying behind with Ron. He had been his first ever friend, a bond that he didn’t think could or should ever be broken, conveniently forgetting their fourth year.

Ginny was allowed into the office, where Hermione was sitting with Professor Snape and Narcissa. Lucius was in their father’s hospital room, waiting for him to wake up.

“Hermione, are you okay?” the youngest Weasley asked, running to her friend.

“I’m fine, Gin. It was just a blood transfusion.”

“ _Just_ a blood transfusion? How can you say that?”

“It’s different in the Muggle world; safer. Healer Pentacular told me beforehand what I was getting into,” she said. “I got into a bit of a panic, you see…”

“Your father is gravely ill,” Narcissa said, squeezing her cousin’s hand. “You are within your rights to worry. I am certain that it stemmed from that.”

“I thought they were making a lot off fuss over a little old blood transfusion,” Hermione added, squeezing back. “But everyone’s been so terribly supportive. I’m just supposed to finish this Christmas pudding that Narcissa brought, and then I’m free to go and visit Father… if he’ll see me.”

“How could he not?” Ginny said. “You just saved his life!”

“He’s still not out of the woods, Ginny.”

“Mum and Dad want to see you, anyway. So do Fred and George, and Bill and Charlie. Fleur’s with her family until tomorrow, but she’s on your side, too. No preconceived ideas about the Malfoys, see? Uh, no offence, Mrs. Malfoy.” The pureblood blonde raised an eyebrow, and Professor Snape cut in.

“I think we can get a nurse to come and see you now,” he said to Hermione. “Narcissa, could you go and find out if Abraxas is awake yet?”

She nodded, and left. In the meantime, Hermione told Ginny about the ball, including their run-ins with Rita Skeeter.

“What’d you do to get _her_ attention?” she said.

“I don’t know! I _knew_ I shouldn’t have blackmailed her. Problem is, if I go to the Ministry now and tell them…”

“You _blackmailed_ her?” the professor asked, arching an eyebrow as he returned at that moment.

“She’s an unregistered Animagus, sir. That’s how I convinced her to do that article last year. Why would she take such a risk? Unless, of course, it _isn’t_ Rita Skeeter.”

“Gods, the thought of more than one of them out there,” he said, he waved at them to be silent. A nurse bustled into the room, and checked Hermione over.

“You’re free to go,” she said, and she left just as quickly as she had arrived.

“To the waiting room, then?” Ginny asked, but Hermione shook her head.

“Hermione?” Narcissa called quietly from the doorway. The brunette’s head snapped up. “Abraxas is just regaining consciousness now. Lucius sent me to fetch you as soon as he showed signs of waking.”

“Ginny, tell your family I won’t be long, unless…”

“I will inform you of developments,” Professor Snape told Ginny, as he took Hermione’s arm. “Until later, Miss Weasley.”

“Professor. Mrs. Malfoy. See you soon, `Mione.”

“Okay.”

As the three drew close to the room, they could hear arguing.

“…your daughter! It’s Christmas, and you should…”

“Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, boy! I’m your father and…”

“You’re _her_ father, too!”

“I refuse to see the gold-digging little witch. If she thinks she can ingratiate herself with me…”

“Just let me explain, Father…”

“No! I will not hear explanations. Leave, Lucius, and take that bushy-haired brat when you go…”

“Hermione,” Professor Snape said, tugging her elbow. “Come on. Let’s go. You shouldn’t have to stay and listen.”

She was standing there, frozen in shock. She gave blood to her father, and he still didn’t want to see her. Was there something _wrong_ with her? She wasn’t attractive; Hermione constantly assured herself of this. But she got good marks in her classes, and she had conducted herself properly all night.

Narcissa winced at the shouting match, and saw the tears sliding down Hermione’s cheeks.

“Get her back to Hogwarts,” she whispered, and the potions master nodded. He dragged her down the hallway, and Narcissa went to join her husband.

“What happened, `Mione?” Ginny asked when she saw her friend. “Did he…”

“He doesn’t wish to see me,” Hermione said, and she sniffed. “It’s fine, Gin. Hello, everyone.”

“Oh, my dear girl,” Mrs. Weasley said, pulling Hermione into her arms. “There, now. It’s all right. We’re right behind you, aren’t we?”

“All the way, Hermione,” Mr. Weasley said, nodding. He patted her on the back. “Coming to our place for Christmas?”

“I… I don’t know…”

“Forget about Ickle Ronniekins,” the twins chorused, slinging their arms around Hermione’s shoulders once she was free of their mother. They both ended up tickling her sides until her tears were tears of laughter.

“I have to return to Hogwarts, though,” Hermione said. She turned around to see Professor Snape walking back from the fireplace. “Will you take me now, sir?”

“W-what? Oh, yes. We’ll Apparate. I should contact the headmaster, and see if he can get the article retracted.”

“Very well,” she said. She turned to the Weasleys. “Thank you for being here for me, and I’m sorry you were taken away from your Christmas…”

“Nonsense,” the matriarch said, shaking her head. “Now you be a good girl, and we shall see you tomorrow, all right?”

Hermione sniffed, and nodded. “You will, Merlin willing. Good night.” She took her professor’s hand, and allowed herself to be swirled away…

But they weren’t in Hogsmeade.

 

And just where do you suppose they were, dear readers?

Until next chapter, auf wiedersehen.


	21. From Shadows

What a mixed night it had been, readers. Hermione was given the support of the Weasleys—well, most of them—but her father had refused to see her, even after she gave him some of her blood to save him from dragon pox.

Well, at least the pudding had been nice.

 

_“Very well,” she said. She turned to the Weasleys. “Thank you for being here for me, and I’m sorry you were taken away from your Christmas…”_

_“Nonsense,” the matriarch said, shaking her head. “Now you be a good girl, and we shall see you tomorrow, all right?”_

_Hermione sniffed, and nodded. “You will, Merlin willing. Good night.” She took her professor’s hand, and allowed herself to be swirled away…_

_But they weren’t in Hogsmeade._

 

“Sir? Where are we?”

“Surely you recall our earlier conversation, Miss Granger? It took place only a matter of hours ago, if that. My, how time flies when one is… well…”

“I hardly call this enjoying oneself, professor.” She looked around the plain, dark room. “Are we at your home?”

“No, we are _not_ at Spinner’s End. We are at my—I believe you used the term ‘safe place’?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. She examined the surroundings. “Forgive me for saying so, sir, but there isn’t much here.”

“There is a door, nothing more. Nor is anything more required, except… convenient shadows.” His gaze darted around, but Hermione was already walking towards the door. “Miss Granger, you are not authorised to open that door. It is dangerous for you to touch the handle…”

“I’m sorry, Professor Snape,” she said. “I really wasn’t thinking.” She looked ashamed. “It must be the lack of blood.” She gave a hollow laugh. He sighed, walked forward, and took her hand.

“Come,” he said, pulling her to the door. “I will show you inside. If ever you have need of this place, notify me, and I will bring you here. Then you may gain entrance.” He opened the door for her, and she stepped in.

Before following her, he looked around, and his eyes met those of a man stepping from the shadows. He shook his head, and the stranger shrank back silently.

He would have to wait.

“How many _books_ do you have, sir?” Hermione said, amazed. Professor Snape closed the door firmly, and turned to watch her twirling in fascination, gazing at the towering shelves which held many a tome. “It seems endless.”

“They are not all mine,” he said. “I could never afford it. But I have a kind benefactor.”

“Who?”

“That, Miss Granger, is none of your business.”

“Sorry,” she said, looking down at her feet, hands held behind her.

So submissive, he thought. Berating himself for thinking such a thing, he offered her a drink.

“We cannot stay long,” he said, handing her a gillywater. That was all she felt like after a night of rich food, and he felt much the same. “But after all that you’ve been through, I felt that you deserved a treat.”

“I shall never forget this place as long as I live,” she said, before downing half of her drink. Her eyes then strayed back over the volumes of magical texts, and he chuckled.

“Go on. Pick a book. Any book.”

“But only some of them are yours…”

“My benefactor will not mind, I assure you.”

“Very well,” she said. “Thank you.” She gave him a sweet smile, finished her drink, and then wandered over to the shelves. “Oh, how wonderful.”

“I hate to say ‘take your time’, but please don’t be too long, Miss Granger.”

“Of course, sir. There are so many here that I have not read, how could I possibly choose? But at least I haven’t to look too far for something new.” She trailed her fingers in the air in front of the tomes, and then selected a book on magical transformations.

“Animagi, Miss Granger?”

“Why not?” she asked softly, stroking the cover. “They remind me of… of Sirius.” She went to open the front page, but Professor Snape put a hand on hers.

“Wait,” he said, taking it from her. He tapped the book, and then handed it back. “My benefactor would not wish you to know his identity.”

“Oh, so it’s a ‘he’, is it?” she said, her tone playful. He glowered at her, and her smile faded. “Sorry, sir.”

“You would do well to forget all about this,” he said. “But I believe that you need this place.”

“I need more than that,” she said. “I think I need to go back to Hogwarts.” She raised her eyes to his. “Can we go now, sir?”

“Of course, Miss Granger. One more spell,” he placed a protective charm on the book, “and now we can leave. Come.”

She took his arm, having placed the glass on a small table, and held the textbook in her other hand. He opened the door wandlessly and wordlessly, and waved her out before him. He closed it tightly behind, and then held her hand again.

“Hogsmeade?” she said. He nodded, and Apparated them away.

The benefactor moved from the shadows, after they were gone, and went over to the door. He opened it, and went inside. He cleared away the glasses, and then went to see which book it was that she had taken.

He chuckled. He should have known.

 

Readers, Hermione would have very little time to dwell on the mysterious benefactor of Professor Severus Snape. Once at Hogsmeade, they returned to the school, and Hermione flaked out as soon as her body hit the bed.

But would she be able to relax for long? Of course not! For tomorrow she was going to the Weasleys, and Ron and Harry would be there.


	22. The Past

Hermione dreamt of the ball, and only the ball, dear readers. Except in her dream, things were slightly different. For one thing, she was a few years older, and wore a white dress. And it wasn’t a Christmas ball; it was a wedding ball. Her wedding. To a faceless groom, though she had a damn good idea who it was supposed to be.

She woke, disappointed, before the wedding night could arrive, and went down to breakfast.

 

_She took his arm, having placed the glass on a small table, and held the textbook in her other hand. He opened the door wandlessly and wordlessly, and waved her out before him. He closed it tightly behind, and then held her hand again._

_“Hogsmeade?” she said. He nodded, and Apparated them away._

_The benefactor moved from the shadows, after they were gone, and went over to the door. He opened it, and went inside. He cleared away the glasses, and then went to see which book it was that she had taken._

_He chuckled. He should have known._

 

Since there were so few people at breakfast—including the staff—Professor McGonagall insisted that Hermione join her at the staff table. Feeling mildly excited, she accepted the offer, and sat beside her teacher.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and the professor chuckled.

“You are welcome, Miss Granger. Did you enjoy the ball last night? Severus informed me of what happened afterwards, about you giving blood to your father.”

“And he didn’t want to see me,” she said, poking at her toast half-heartedly.

“I’m sorry, my dear. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I just…” She paused, and then pressed on. “I wish I knew more about this.” She looked at the deputy headmistress. “You were going to tell me something not so long ago. What was it? Was it about my father?”

“About both of your parents,” Professor McGonagall said. “Finish your breakfast quickly, and we will speak before you leave. You are going to see the Weasleys, I believe?”

“I wish I’d fallen ill so I wouldn’t have to see Ron, but at least the rest of them are on my side.” She took a long drink, and they continued eating in relative silence. Hermione couldn’t help looking up as soon as Professor Snape walked into the hall. She just… knew that he was there.

“Good morning,” he said, sitting down beside Hermione, and immediately pouring some coffee. “What time are you setting off, Miss Granger?”

“Uh, well I’m going to be talking with Professor McGonagall first, so I don’t know. They haven’t sent an owl, so I don’t know when I’m expected. I really don’t want to go too early, just in case they’re not… uh, ready.”

“You do not wish to walk in on some argument about your visit,” he said, and she nodded. “I cannot say that I blame you. I would feel the same way. But when you decide to leave, would you like me to take you, and go inside first, to announce you?”

“Oh, yes! Yes, sir. That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall said. “We can speak now, if you like.”

“Coming, professor.”

The went to the teacher’s office, and Hermione was sat down by the fire to drink tea.

“Now, it’s a bit of a delicate subject,” the deputy-headmistress said, stirring her drink slowly. “And I can only tell you what I remember from our schooldays, nothing afterwards. I could only surmise that. You would have to ask…”

“Yes. I know.” Hermione sighed, and then took a sip of tea. Then she realised that she had interrupted. “Sorry, professor. Please continue. So, you knew my biological parents?”

“I did indeed. There is something you must realise about arranged marriages, Miss Granger. They are not always conducted from birth. After all, you want the couples most likely to… uh, procreate, and live together amicably. Frosty tension is fine, as long as no one is hexing anyone else.” Hermione giggled at her professor’s light tone.

“You were saying?”

“It is hardly a laughing matter, Miss Granger. Not in this case.” She sighed, setting her cup and saucer down, and resting her head in her hands. “You see, Abraxas and Walburga always got on so well from the start, and grew very attached to each other.”

“So what happened? Did people think they were too like brother and sister? Because incest certainly doesn’t seem to affect any of the purebloods,” she added in a mutter. Professor McGonagall snorted in amusement, startling the student.

“How very true. But this was not the problem. There were two problems, really: Orion Black and Prunella Lestrange, later Malfoy.”

“Oh. Did they not get on?”

“Two fiercer opponents you could never meet, or so it seemed at the time,” she said, shaking her head. “They fought every time they met, and completely rubbed each other up the wrong way. Prunella and Abraxas were icy towards each other, but were at least polite. Walburga and Orion ignored each other for the most part.”

“It doesn’t make sense. If they wanted more children, wouldn’t it have made more sense to make Orion and Prunella wait, and let my parents marry? With real affection—or something close to it—they could have had many sons and daughters. I only have three half-brothers, and no half-sisters.”

“Prunella and Orion would never have touched each other, and arranged marriages are made for reproduction, not love. Significant age differences are not encouraged, and there was no one else… acceptable around at the time.”

“Vetted?” Hermione suggested. This time, it wasn’t a snort. It was a full-blown belly laugh from the Transfiguration professor. She blushed at the strong reaction.

“Oh, how you’ve got it right, Miss Granger.” She calmed down. “You know, the place where you read in the library—do you ever feel particularly drawn to it?”

“Well, yes. That’s why I sit there.”

“Indeed. Well, strong magic has been performed there. You see,” she looked down at her hands, now clasped in her lap, “Walburga and Abraxas were in love with each other, something which came to a head in their sixth and seventh years respectively. I had left one of my books in the library, and had to go back there, close to curfew. I was in my sixth year, too. Tom Riddle was the Head Boy that year, in the same year as Abraxas.”

“You saw my parents there?”

“They were dancing,” she said. “Just… dancing. There was no music—not that I heard, anyway. It was so quiet in the rest of the library that I could hear them, whispering their love to each other. The most affection I ever saw between two purebloods from such families. It is a true tragedy, really, that they were torn apart.”

“That’s so sad,” Hermione said, feeling tears form while she imagined her parents. She could see it in her mind—the two teenagers dancing together. Forbidden love.

“I found them such a few times; and not every time was because I had forgotten a book.”

“You mean… you left books behind on purpose sometimes?”

“Oh, no. I would never risk losing them. I just wanted to check. The last time I did…” She reddened. “Well, let me just say that, when she married Orion Black, Walburga was no virgin bride.”

“Oh.” Hermione turned just as scarlet. “I see. So…”

“It just confirms my suspicions that their first time… uh, making love,” she cleared her throat, “was in the library, in that one place where you study.”

“Gods above, will I ever be able to work there again?”

“Now, forget about all of this, Miss Granger. It is Christmas Day, and you are due to visit the Weasleys. Go and get ready for that, and I will see you when you get back to the school, unless you stay overnight at the Burrow.”

“Yes, professor.”

“And enjoy yourself.”

“…I’ll try.”

 

Readers, Hermione now knew some of her parents’ history. With this in mind, she left the office feeling a bit better, and yet also sadder. She could hardly wait until she next returned to the library… or perhaps to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

She barely thought about the mysterious benefactor of Professor Snape, nor did she think about her father’s continued rejections.


	23. The Weasleys

Hermione had learnt about her biological parents’ past together. She found it sad that they had loved each other, but could never be with each other; sadder yet that they never _could_ be together, either. But her worries now lay with her impending visit to the Weasleys. How would things pan out?

 

_“Now, forget about all of this, Miss Granger. It is Christmas Day, and you are due to visit the Weasleys. Go and get ready for that, and I will see you when you get back to the school, unless you stay overnight at the Burrow.”_

_“Yes, professor.”_

_“And enjoy yourself.”_

_“…I’ll try.”_

 

“Hermione!”

She was immediately engulfed by two redheads either side of her, and laughed with relief as she hugged them back. Fred and George would be steadfast allies. She turned around to face her escort.

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” she whispered. He bowed his head.

“You are welcome, Miss Granger. Please let me know when you wish to return to Hogwarts, and I will come for you.”

“Yes, sir.” With that, the professor Apparated away, and Hermione was dragged into the Burrow, the door being slammed shut with a gust of wind. She was virtually frog-marched into the living room. Mrs. Weasley bustled forward, and pulled the young girl into her arms.

“Oh, my dear,” she said, almost squeezing the life out of her. Had Hermione been unaware that this was just her way of showing affection, she might suspect an assassination attempt. “You should know that you are welcome here _anytime_.”

“Yeah, just ignore Ronniekins,” George said, leaning against one side of the doorframe.

“We all know he’s a prat,” Fred added from the opposite side.

“Don’t say such things about your brother,” Mrs. Weasley said, though Hermione could tell that she secret agreed. “Now, come and sit down, Hermione. We’ll get you a nice warm drink, shall we?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Hermione!” Ginny cried, popping into the room. She ran forward and threw herself at her friend. “Welcome back! How are you today?”

“A bit sad, but a lot happy,” she replied.

“Sad? Why?”

“Oh… I’ll tell you later,” she said, looking between the twins who were listening closely. “It’s not something to think about on Christmas Day. Did you get my present?”

“Yes, and it’s all right. The others understand that you didn’t have anything for them.”

“I promise I’ll find something for New Year…”

“It’s not necessary,” Fred told her, plonking down on her right.

“But it’s very thoughtful of you,” George said from her left, looking mock serious.

“And who are we…”

“To refuse a present?”

“Nobody,” Hermione said, grinning. She received a pat on the back.

“Quite right, Granger,” they said in unison. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, Harry’s upstairs with Ron at the moment. Bill and Charlie will be here later, and Dad’s…”

“Here now,” Mr. Weasley said, smiling as he walked into the living room. Hermione beamed at him.

“Hello, Mr. Weasley. Thank you all for inviting me again.”

“You’re like family,” he said, and he patted her shoulder. “Don’t ever feel as though you’re not.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t friendly at the beginning,” Ginny said, looking ashamed. “It’s this thing between our family and the Malfoys…”

“Forget about it,” Hermione said. She just couldn’t stop smiling at the moment. “I’m a Granger by upbringing, and only a Malfoy by birth. I know which one counts more.” Mrs. Weasley came back, and handed her a cup of hot chocolate. She raised it in salute. “Cheers.”

A knock came at the door. Ginny answered it, and showed in Charlie and Bill. After greeting the rest of their family, they said hello to Hermione.

“So, how was the Christmas ball?” Charlie said, sitting beside Ginny.

“Wonderful,” Hermione said, thinking back to when she danced with Professor Snape. “But stuffy,” she added quickly. “There were reporters, and they ganged up on me.”

“Yes,” Bill said, handing her a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. “There are pictures all through the papers, mainly of you. And especially of you with Severus Snape.” Hermione blushed, and looked at them. Oh dear. They definitely looked as though there was more to their relationship than just student-teacher. She felt tears prickling the corners of her eyes. It was fourth year all over again.

“Why does this keep happening?” she said. “Why? Are other people’s lives so dull? I mean, it would be all right if it was just a few innocent photographs…”

“Which these are, aren’t they?” Mr. Weasley said, studying her. “Be honest, Hermione.”

“I… well, I like Professor Snape well enough. But only because he’s been so nice about this whole business. Hasn’t he, Ginny?”

“He has,” she said, nodding slowly. “But still, `Mione. Look at the pictures.”

“I’ve looked,” she said grimly. “And I’m looking even more at the articles. How _dare_ they suggest that there’s something going on between us! And even if there was, do people seriously suppose that we would be so indiscreet?” She handed the paper back to Bill. “It’s infuriating, and insulting, and degrading, and just downright… mean.” She shrugged. “I can’t even find enough words to describe it. I’m that undone.”

Just then, a clatter of feet on the stairs interrupted whatever comforting words might have spilled forth. Hermione shrank back in her chair, hearing the boys’ voices. She heard her name, and tried her best to ignore them. She knew that she wouldn’t want to hear whatever was being said about her.

Ron came into the room first, and scowled when he saw Hermione.

“I thought they were only joking when they said you’d be here today,” he said, and she saw his hand moving towards his pocket. She knew that even he wouldn’t be stupid enough to hex her in front of his family. Instead, she craned her head as Harry stepped up beside his best friend.

“Hello,” she said, and her gaze dropped to the floor. “Uh… merry Christmas.”

“I thought it was family and friends only?” Ron said, not giving Harry time to speak. “I don’t remember anyone talking about traitors.”

Hermione stood in a flash. She wasn’t going to take this. Not on Christmas Day. “Ron, the only traitor here is you. Friends through thick and thin; I thought that was what we were supposed to be. I should have known something like this would happen. You abandoned Harry in fourth year, just because of your jealousy. Is it jealousy that’s caused you to hate me so suddenly, or have you always felt this way? Or is it just because of my biological family? Why can’t you be more like _your_ family?”

“Oh? And where’s Percy?” Ron asked, crossing his arms.

While the other Weasleys bristled at the Percy remark, Hermione marched forward. Again, Ron’s hand moved towards his wand, but one of the twins disarmed him. Or was it Ginny? Hermione didn’t see. Instead, she moved past Harry.

“Hermione,” he said, his voice so quiet that she almost missed it. Hermione turned her head.

“Yes?”

But Ron hearing the voices, spoke. “Go, Hermione. Run, just like a coward.”

She glared at him, and drew herself up. “I am no coward, Ron. I am a true Gryffindor, sorted into that house _despite_ my family, and not because of it. Just like my brother, Sirius Black; _your_ godfather,” she added, looking pointedly at Harry. She opened the door, breaking eye contact with her black-haired friend, and Apparated to Hogsmeade as soon as she was outside.

Seconds after she arrived, she was knocked out cold.

 

What would happen to Hermione now, readers? One thing after another… It would be enough to drive any sensible-minded person to distraction. What would it do to Hermione?

And who was about to kidnap her? For kidnapping it would be, as you shall see.


	24. A Kidnapping

The little time Hermione spent at the Weasleys was fine until Ron and Harry spoiled the mood. If you may recall, readers, Harry tried to speak to Hermione, but was stopped. She left, and instead of contacting Professor Snape, she instead went on her alone.

 

_She glared at him, and drew herself up. “I am no coward, Ron. I am a true Gryffindor, sorted into that house despite my family, and not because of it. Just like my brother, Sirius Black; your godfather,” she added, looking pointedly at Harry. She opened the door, breaking eye contact with her black-haired friend, and Apparated to Hogsmeade as soon as she was outside._

_Seconds after she arrived, she was knocked out cold._

 

Hermione woke soon after, and found herself reclining on an uncomfortable couch. She looked around, blinking at the bright light, and her eyes narrowed. Three men sat nearby, all watching as she sat up slowly.

“Where’s my wand?” she asked.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” one of the masked strangers said. Hermione snorted.

“Uh-huh. Funny.” She felt her pockets. “Nope. It’s not here. Mind explaining my presence? My family will not appreciate you kidnapping me, I can assure you.”

“Kidnapping?” the second man asked. “Is that what you believe this is? Miss Malfoy…”

“Granger. My surname is _Granger_.”

He tutted. “You really won’t get far unless you take your family name.”

“It _is_ my family name!” she told them, standing. They all drew their wands, and she took the point, sitting down. “How dare you suggest otherwise. Abraxas Malfoy has been no father to me, nor have the Malfoys ever been family. Not until now.”

“You believe that warm feelings equate to family?” the last man said. “How touching. How naïve.” He studied his nails, annoyingly casual. Hermione glared at him.

“Yes. Now tell me why I am here.”

The first man stood, and approached her. She tensed, shrinking back. He chuckled. “We will not harm you.”

“Then return my wand.”

“Ah, but it would do no good. You must hear us out first.”

“Who _are_ you?” she asked, looking at each of them in turn. “I don’t recognise your voices.”

They looked at each other, and removed their masks as one. Her eyes widened. She knew their faces, at least. She had seen them in records made by the Order.

“I am Augustus Rookwood,” the first man said, sweeping her a bow, a glint in his eyes as he studied her body. Hermione sneered.

“Charmed,” she said. “And you two?”

“Evan Rosier,” the second man told her. The third looked up from his nails, and when he spoke this time, she knew who it was.

“Surely you remember _my_ voice?” he said.

“Dolohov,” she whispered, her hands immediately going to the scar she still had from his curse.

“Antonin Dolohov, at your service,” he said, in a mocking tone.

“Why am I here? You’ve brought me here for some reason, haven’t you?”

“Of course,” Rookwood said, sitting beside her. Hermione scooted to the other end of the couch, keeping a good distance between them. He chuckled, and moved closer.

“No. Stay away from me.”

“We are not here for that… today,” he said. Rosier and Dolohov stood, and dragged their chairs up to the couch. Now all three men were less than a foot away from her, and she was beginning to tremble in fear.

“Gods, please don’t hurt me,” she said, voice weak and eyes wide.

“We wouldn’t dare,” Rosier said, rolling his eyes. “But one day you will not be so averse to the advances of any of your fellow Death Eaters.”

“What? I’m not a Death Eater!”

“Surely you are aware of your family’s involvement,” Dolohov said. “Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, Abraxas, Bellatrix…”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare mention her name,” Hermione said, eyes flashing at the memory of Sirius’ death.

“You will be expected to join,” Rosier said. “Accept that now, and be prepared for your call from the Dark Lord.”

She felt sick. How could they honestly think that she would ever switch sides? “Sirius never became a Death Eater. He would _never_ do something like that, and nor would I.”

“You are no longer best friends with Harry Potter,” Rookwood reminded her, moving even closer. Hermione was completely hemmed in.

“But I am friends with the Weasleys, and I will _always_ fight for the Light,” she said. “I am a Gryffindor, heart and soul.”

“Peter Pettigrew was in Gryffindor.”

“And Regulus Black was in Slytherin.” The three men scowled. “Do you have a point?”

“Get used to the fact that you _will_ join the Dark, because it _will_ happen,” Dolohov said.

“You nearly killed me at the Ministry of Magic! No arguments of yours could ever persuade me. It is not vanity that compels me to say that I am important to the Light. They need me, and _Voldemort_ will never have _me_ as a follower.” All three men were on their feet, wands held at her throat. She stared at them defiantly, anger making her forget her fear. “Go on. Make it worse for yourselves, and kill me. Do you have the guts?”

“It would not do well for you to speak about guts, my girl,” Rookwood said. “Otherwise you may see them all over the floor by the time we’re done with you.”

“I look forward to it,” she said, a demented gleam entering her gaze as it settled on each man. “But I wonder if your ‘lord’ would approve of you killing me without his permission? Does he even know that I am here? I rather think he doesn’t, else you wouldn’t mention him ‘calling’ for me. If he was here, I would be branded by now, wouldn’t I?” There was continued silence between the three Death Eaters. “I thought as much. Now either kill me, and risk wrath from both sides of the war, or return my wand, and let me go back to school.”

There was a pause. Finally, Rosier produced her wand from his pocket, and threw it into her lap. She pushed past him until she was a good distance away. She immediately cast a Shield, just in time, stopping their three Stunners. Before it could disappear, she Apparated back to the Burrow, where she saw an angry Professor Snape on the doorstep, arguing with the Weasleys.

“No, she hasn’t returned to school! Why the hell would you let her leave like that? If one single hair on her head is harmed because of your _behaviour_ , Weasley, I will hold your personally responsible, and ensure that…”

“I’m here, sir,” she said, and he turned around. She saw the relieved faces of most of the Weasleys. Only Ron didn’t look happy to see her return. He looked more sullen than usual. But Harry… well, she couldn’t read his face.

“Thank the gods,” Professor Snape said, and he strode down the path to her. He gripped her arm, and turned back to the Weasleys. “If she had been hurt…”

“They know, professor. Can we just go back to Hogwarts now?”

He nodded without looking at her, and he produced a Portkey.

“The headmaster gave it to me,” he said, and she held one end of the empty lemon drop jar. Their fingers brushed against each other, and she had to hold back a smile. “Pord nomel.”

The words triggered the Portkey, taking them straight to the headmaster’s office. Hermione thanked her potions master, and then requested a private meeting with Professor Dumbledore. Her escort flooed to his office, leaving her alone with the headmaster.

 

And then, dear readers, Hermione went on to tell him about her eventful morning. In all her years of crime-solving with Harry and Ron, she had never been so busy, nor so tired. But it would not be long before a chance to rest would arrive.

Yet, my dears, that is for another chapter.


	25. Dumbledore's Army

Readers, when we left off, Hermione had been confronted by three Death Eaters, who warned her that she would be joining them, simply because she was a Malfoy and a Black. After she escaped from them, she was able to get to Professor Snape, who took her back to Hogwarts, where she was safe once again… but for how long?

 

_He nodded without looking at her, and he produced a Portkey._

_“The headmaster gave it to me,” he said, and she held one end of the empty lemon drop jar. Their fingers brushed against each other, and she had to hold back a smile. “Pord nomel.”_

_The words triggered the Portkey, taking them straight to the headmaster’s office. Hermione thanked her potions master, and then requested a private meeting with Professor Dumbledore. Her escort flooed to his office, leaving her alone with the headmaster._

 

“What brings you here so early, Miss Granger?” he asked pleasantly, indicating that she sit down.

“I… oh, I should tell you from the beginning.”

“Better yet, show me,” he said, standing. She followed him to the Pensieve. “Do you know how to extract a memory?”

“Yes, sir. Or, at least, I read about it…”

“Well, now is as good a time as any to practise. Go ahead.”

Concentrating, Hermione pulled out her memories of the morning’s events, and placed them in the Pensieve. The two leaned over, and were soon falling forward.

Dumbledore’s expression never changed during the scene at the Burrow, but Hermione winced as she relived what had happened. She looked up at the headmaster when she lost consciousness, but he simply raised an eyebrow at her. She blushed, and looked away as the next memory appeared.

When Evan Rosier was introduced, he frowned.

“I thought that Alastor… but that man looks a bit young to be…” He hmm-ed.

“Sir?”

“Rosier died in the first war, Miss Granger. Alastor Moody was there. Either he really didn’t die—and I trust Alastor’s judgement explicitly—or he had a son who was named after him.”

“Or it isn’t really him, and they’re just trying to throw you. _Surely_ they knew that I’d come here…”

“Really? You suppose that?” he said, looking over the top of his spectacles at her. She shrugged helplessly, and they watched the rest of the memory until Hermione arrived back at the Burrow.

Once back in Dumbledore’s office, they sat down again. Unable to stand the continuing silence, she spoke.

“So what do we do, sir? I can’t become a Death Eater.”

“Can’t you?” he asked, head resting on his steepled fingers. Hermione was so shocked that she just sat there, opening and closing her mouth. “Think about it…”

“No! No, I could never be a Death Eater.”

“Miss Granger, it would help the Order so much if you could spy. It would no doubt offer Severus some relief. Your loyalties would not be suspected…”

“Don’t be so sure, headmaster. I denied it so emphatically to my kidnappers, and then came here afterwards. You-Know-Who would know that you’ve sent me. You’d be condemning me to death if you…”

“And yet your two best friends have turned against you,” he said, tilting his head. “Do think about it. Wait a little while, and then join under the pretence of putting your family above your friends, as they no longer consider you their friend.”

“But my parents are Muggles. What if they try to hurt them?”

“Miss Granger,” he said, voice grave, “your parents will no doubt be harmed if you do not join anyway. You are one of the most powerful and talented witches in Britain. Tom will want you on his side. I would not be surprised if he really did send them.”

“No, sir. I am convinced that he didn’t.”

Dumbledore frowned, but made no comment on Hermione’s bold statement. His expression turned thoughtful again.

“I still think that…”

“With all due respect, _sir_ , this is my life. He would never be convinced that I am on his side, and would kill me instantly. Either that, or play with me first; torture me until I have probably lost my mind, and then end my life. No. I’ll not risk myself like that.” She stood, nearly knocking over the chair. “You may think that you know Lord Voldemort, but you don’t. I may have never met him myself, but I am cynical enough to think of the consequences. _If_ I was able to spy, then I could be of use to the Order. It would be a benefit.” She placed her hands on the desk. “But, sir, can’t you see that he would never believe that I had changed? I am no Occlumens, remember. And while Harry may no longer care if I live or die, the Order would lose confidence in you if you allowed me to die. I will not risk that by going on a suicide mission.” She paused, and then straightened. “I’m sorry, headmaster.”

She ran from the room, never ceasing her fast pace until she reached Gryffindor Tower, and began to mull over all that had been said. One thing stuck in her mind.

Her Muggle parents. Their lives were now in more danger than she had ever dreamed of.

Hermione stood, and began to pace. What could she do? She could erect as many wards around their house as possible, but what would it accomplish? Voldemort could take them down in an instant, probably wandlessly _and_ non-verbally.

And where could she take them? Grimmauld Place, perhaps. But not anymore. Now that it belonged to Harry, and they weren’t friends anymore… Then there was the Burrow, but even though most of the Weasleys were on her side, it still wasn’t as well-protected. She didn’t want to endanger _them_ any more, either.

If only she had a safe place, somewhere she could take them, where nobody, not even Dumbledore, could ever find them…

And then the solution came to her.

She smiled slowly, and then leapt up the stairs to the sixth year girls’ dormitory. She opened her trunk, and used a series of Packing Charms while she put Crookshanks in his basket, ignoring his complaints. After she had finished, she shrunk the case, not caring that she shouldn’t have been using this magic, warded the cage and magically attached it to her back, and made sure that she was dressed appropriately, in dark, warm clothes.

Thanking her good memory and her midnight wanderings with the boys, she crept as quickly as she could all the way down from the tower to the Entrance Hall, and then onto the grounds. She grimaced, and Summoned a broomstick, unable to believe that she was doing this.

Suitcase safely in her pocket, she mounted the broomstick, apologising to Crookshanks for his indignant yowls. Doing her best to remember the instructions from first year, not to mention the number of Quidditch practises that she had attended, she shot off into the sky, yelping quietly at the speed.

For the fifth time that day—or was it more than that by now?—she ended up in Hogsmeade. Only she wouldn’t be back for quite some time.

 

And, dear readers, this is where I leave you for yet another chapter. Christmas Day would bring a great surprise for the Grangers, having their daughter visit. But where would the surprise lead?

I rather think that you can guess…


	26. 'Nice' Surprise

Dumbledore had wanted Hermione to become a spy after her kidnapping. Naturally, dear readers, she knew that this as impossible. Voldemort never would have believed that she was on his side. At least, not straight away. It would take far too long; and she refused to risk her parents’ lives like that, not with the danger to them ever-increasing,

 

_Thanking her good memory and her midnight wanderings with the boys, she crept as quickly as she could all the way down from the tower to the Entrance Hall, and then onto the grounds. She grimaced, and Summoned a broomstick, unable to believe that she was doing this._

_Suitcase safely in her pocket, she mounted the broomstick, apologising to Crookshanks for his indignant yowls. Doing her best to remember the instructions from first year, not to mention the number of Quidditch practises that she had attended, she shot off into the sky, yelping quietly at the speed._

_For the fifth time that day—or was it more than that by now?—she ended up in Hogsmeade. Only she wouldn’t be back for quite some time._

 

“Hermione!” Mrs. Granger threw open the door, and pulled her daughter into her arms.

“Hi, Mum,” she said, sniffling as she hugged her back. “We… we need to…”

“You’ve come home for Christmas,” she said, holding her daughter’s face in her hands. “Oh, your father will be so…”

“What’s going on, Jean? Is that our little girl?”

“Hi, Dad,” she said, and she buried her face into his chest.

“Are these tears?” he asked as she pulled away. She nodded. “We thought that you wanted to be with your friends…”

“There’s a problem,” she said. “We need to talk. Please?”

They looked at each other, and seemed to guess. They pulled her into the living room, and Mrs. Granger frowned at her daughter as they all sat down.

“Your face looks different,” she said.

“It’s the nose,” Hermione said, fingering it self-consciously. “It was a Glamour.”

“A glamour?”

“A kind of concealment charm placed on me by my biological mother,” she said, meeting her parents’ eyes. She could see just how uncomfortable they felt. “Not that I care too much; you’ll always be my parents. I just wish I had known. It would have made my years at Hogwarts a bit easier if I knew that I was a Pureblood.”

“We didn’t know that she was a witch,” Mr. Granger said, holding his wife’s hand. “A young man told us that his mother was pregnant by someone who wasn’t her husband. We had just lost a baby, and were grateful for the chance to have a child, even if it wasn’t our own by blood.”

“We didn’t see him again,” Mrs. Granger said. “Only a note from someone we assumed to be the mother, whose initials were WB, when you were left on our doorstep.”

“Walburga Black,” Hermione said.

“Black? As in Sirius Black?”

“Yes.” She drew an unsteady breath. “He’s my half-brother. I guess we’ll never know if he was the one who visited you.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Mr. Granger said. “We would have recognised him when his escape from prison was announced. That was in 1993, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Maybe it was his brother who spoke to you. Of course, he could have been disguised. I have three half-brothers, one on my father’s side. His name is Lucius Malfoy.”

“Malfoy?”

“Yes. Draco Malfoy’s father.” She grimaced. “I know. Draco is my nephew. Bit ironic, after all these years of insults, of him calling me a Mudblood.” She shuddered at the word. “But now some people are expecting me to join You-Know-Who. I can’t do it, but it’s possible that he really does want me on his side. In which case, he’ll stop at nothing to get my support. And that would include harming you.” They looked shocked. “That’s why I’m here to take you somewhere safe. You’ll hate the travel, and you’ll have to pack quickly, but it’s necessary for the cause. For the… Greater Good.” She sighed. “I’ll ward the house.”

“Wait, Hermione,” Mrs. Granger said as Hermione stood, “we can’t just up and leave like this.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, when a silvery form entered the room. It was a Patronus.

“Hermione, where are you?” It was Lucius’ voice. “Your parents are in danger. It’s the Dark Lord. He’s planning to leave for their house soon. I will contact Dumbledore, and tell him to expect you.”

With that, the Patronus disappeared.

“Good timing, I’ll give him that,” she muttered, and then she turned to her parents. “Please. We have to go. Why do you think I have Crookshanks?” She held up the cage, her grumbling familiar still inside. “I’ll help you pack.”

With the use of magic, they were back downstairs within five minutes. Hermione began to set the strongest wards that she knew, in between casting hasty shrinking charms on her parents’ luggage. She pocketed them once she was finished with the wards.

“I can only get there by Apparation, and I don’t want to take two of you at once, since I’ve only just learnt how to do it. Let me just make sure I get Crooks there alright, to make sure it works.”

She disappeared, and then reappeared seconds later without her cat.

“Hermione?” Mrs. Granger asked, eyes wide.

“Hush, Mum. He’s fine. Just don’t move until I say so.” Hermione grabbed her mother’s arm, concentrated, and Apparated them away. She left her with Crookshanks, and returned for her father. Without speaking, she reached for his arm.

Just then, something shook the house. Someone was attacking the wards. Hermione ran to the window, and gasped.

It was Voldemort, flanked by half a dozen Death Eaters. They were throwing spells at the house.

“Expecto patronum!” Hermione shouted, Summoning her Patronus. “Go to… go to Neville Longbottom, and tell him that I’ve taken my parents into safety.” She didn’t even stay to watch the Patronus leave, but grabbed her father’s arm and Disapparated.

“Wha… where are we, Hermione?” he asked, looking ill. He and Mrs. Granger studied the bare space they were in, but Hermione picked up Crookshanks, and strode to the nearby door.

“Hello?” she called, not daring to touch it. Professor Snape had warned her, and she knew to take the warning seriously.

They all listened as footsteps approached the door. It opened slowly, until a person appeared before them.

“It’s you!” Mrs. Granger said, pointing at him. “You’re the one who told us about…”

“Hermione?” he whispered, unable to tear his gaze away from her.

“Who are you?” she said.

“I’m…” A tear fell down his cheek, and he opened his arms. “I’m so happy to see you.”

And then he pulled her into a hug.

 

The Grangers were finally safe from Voldemort, at least for the time being. But who, indeed, was the professor’s benefactor? You will find out in the next posting, dear readers, so please be patient.

More shall be revealed…


	27. Fussing Around

Readers, in the previous instalment Hermione had taken her parents away from their house, and just in time. As Voldemort and his Death Eaters were attacking the wards that she had placed on the house, and her Patronus was taking a message to Neville, they were at Professor Snape’s safe place, meeting his mysterious benefactor.

 

_They all listened as footsteps approached the door. It opened slowly, until a person appeared before them._

_“It’s you!” Mrs. Granger said, pointing at him. “You’re the one who told us about…”_

_“Hermione?” he whispered, unable to tear his gaze away from her._

_“Who are you?” she said._

_“I’m…” A tear fell down his cheek, and he opened his arms. “I’m so happy to see you.”_

_And then he pulled her into a hug._

 

Hermione’s brow was furrowed as she thought, automatically hugging this stranger back. He was the one her parents had met? It could only be one person.

“Regulus?” she whispered. He let out a sob, and held her tighter.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, little sister. It’s me.” He rocked her back and forth, revelling in the feeling of finally being able to touch her, to hold her. Eventually, he pulled back, and cradled her face, studying it. “Abraxas Malfoy’s nose. But… Salazar, you look like Mother. Hermione, I have waited for this day for _so long_. I knew the day you started at Hogwarts, and made Severus show me the memory. Every time you’ve done something to set back the Dark Lord’s return. I even… I even visited you in the hospital wing whenever you were injured. Severus allowed me to disguise myself as him so that I could visit. He knew that I’d go mad with worry if I couldn’t see you for myself.” He brushed away the tears that were trickling down her own cheeks now. It was then that he noticed the Grangers. “Oh, forgive me. Please come in.”

He pulled back, and allowed the three guests inside. Once they were in, he closed and warded the door.

“Are you really… yes, you must be,” Hermione said, walking forward, and back into her half-brother’s arms. They stood there, cuddling for quite some time, while the Grangers shifted uncomfortably where they stood.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus said to them. “I’m neglecting you again. Please sit down. I just… I need to hold her for a bit. I mean, it hardly gets lonely around here, but they’re never… Uh.” He cleared his throat. “Hermione, come here?” She followed him to an armchair, where he sat down. He held out his arms, and she curled up on his lap, soon enveloped in his arms.

Lucius was too dignified to hold her like this, particularly with a son her age. He just wasn’t the type. Sirius might have done; but he was dead. She hadn’t thought that the only one she had never met was the only one who could hug her like this. Finally, she understood the true meaning of being protected by someone. With her older brother hanging onto her for dear life, wetting her hair with his tears, she couldn’t help but burst into noisy sobs. She couldn’t imagine ever giving this up.

Hermione had been conceived almost eighteen years ago. Almost two decades he had waited to see his baby sister in person. By the time she was born, he and Severus had had to fake his death, though he knew that the birth had weakened his mother considerably. His feelings at this moment were far from mixed: he was truly happy; that was all.

“You’re here, you’re _alive_ ,” Hermione said, composing herself. “You’re… alive.”

“I am.” He drew in a shaky breath. “I am.”

“How?”

He sighed. “First, I must ask why you are here. When Severus comes—and I have a feeling it will be very soon—I wish to have some explanation ready.”

“You-Know-Who came to our house. Fortunately, Lucius gave me a heads-up, otherwise I might not have had them out of there in time.”

“Good to know that a Malfoy’s useful for something,” he muttered. Hermione smacked him lightly on the arm.

“He’s been very kind to me. And I thought that he was my only _living_ brother.”

“I know. But you didn’t take them to Hogwarts?”

“The closest I could have Apparated them was Hogsmeade, and someone might have been waiting there for us.”

“True. You really are a know-it-all.” He smiled affectionately at her. “I can’t believe it. I never thought that we’d be this close straight away. I just… can’t believe it.”

“It’s not the first time you’ve seen me, though.”

“No. But the first time as myself, in person. Able to speak to you like this.” He stroked her hair back. “And once the war is over, then maybe we can get to know each other better? Mr. and Mrs. Granger could tell me all about your childhood before Hogwarts.” He smiled at them. “Thank you for looking after her so well. I’m sorry for any trouble you’ve been put to, and for the bullying you’ve had to put up with at Hogwarts,” he added, looking at his sister. “So sorry. If I could have done something… but Dumbledore feared that the Dark Lord would return.” He hung his head. “Otherwise I would have made myself known, taking you back to Mother, taken care of you myself. Maybe she wouldn’t have died if I’d been there to look after her. I think… I think that giving you away was what killed her in the end. But it was for the best.”

“I know, and I’m so glad you did the right thing. The reason has been explained to me. And I’m here now.” She pulled out the tiny luggage. “I hate to impose, but _could_ we stay here? I daren’t even return to Hogwarts. I’m afraid that Professor Dumbledore might insist on me spying, or doing something equally dangerous. I’m afraid of… I’m just afraid. Not much of a Gryffindor, am I?”

“You’re incredibly brave to have saved your parents and brought them here,” Regulus said. “And you’ve done so much, and so well, ever since your first year. Severus found out your OWL results for me. I’m so proud of my baby sister.” He grinned at her red face. “Higher marks than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Well… I only got Exceeds Expectations in Defence,” she said, shrugging.

“Little Miss Perfectionist.”

“Hmph.”

“Come on,” he said, pushing her off his lap as gently as he could. “Let’s get rooms for the three of you.”

“But you haven’t explained how you’re still alive,” she complained. He sighed, smiled again, and pulled her back onto his lap.

“You know how you must have intention to make an Unforgivable work?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Severus was the Death Eater ordered to kill me. To maintain his position as a spy, he cast the spell. But his intention was wrong. Instead of wanting to kill me, he instead wished that he could only _appear_ to kill me.” Hermione gasped.

“What happened?”

“Well, it looked like I _was_ dead. But when he checked closer, saying that he wanted to ‘get rid of the body’, he recognised the symptoms of someone under the Draught of Living Death, and… well, he _is_ a Potions Master.”

“So he just brewed the antidote?”

“Yes. He gave it to me within the crucial twenty-four hours. But even then he had to use a Reviving Charm, and a course of Pepper-Up potions. When I woke up, it was like nothing had ever happened. After that, any murders that he had to commit, he did the same thing. He took a big risk taking them to Spinner’s End, so I found this place so he could bring them here. They’re never conscious for long, since he wants to keep it secret. It’s a kind of haven for him; even Dumbledore doesn’t know about it. Over the years, he’s taught me more in potions than I ever learned at Hogwarts. I’ve been able to help him, particularly since the Dark Lord came back to life.” He grimaced.

“Did Professor Snape know about me?”

“No. Only Mother and I knew. And your parents.”

“Thank you for finding them for me,” she said. He allowed one more tear to fall down his cheek.

“Let’s talk more about this later. It’s getting onto late afternoon. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No, I haven’t. Mum? Dad?”

“We ate awhile ago,” Mrs. Granger said. “Regulus? May we call you that?”

“Of course. I owe you so much.”

“Not at all,” Mr. Granger said. “We wanted a child; you gave us one. We couldn’t ask for better than Hermione.”

“Oh.” She blushed, embarrassed with all of the attention. “What were you going to ask, Mum?”

“Are you sure this isn’t an imposition? Our staying here?”

“Not to me. I can’t speak for Severus, but I’m sure he won’t mind. After all, he lives at Hogwarts, not here. I’m glad to have the chance to fuss around after this one.”

Just then, there was the sound of Apparation outside. Hermione leapt to her feet, drawing her wand.

“What if they followed me?”

“Only people who have been here before can come here, unless they’re brought by someone else, like when Severus brought you. And then they have to be given permission to return by both of us. I was watching from outside when he brought you here, you know. I wanted to say ‘hello’ so much, but I just couldn’t. I guess I was afraid, too.”

“So that will be Professor Snape, then?”

“Yes.”

Sure enough, the potions professor burst into the room moments later.

 

It was an emotional reunion between the long-lost brother and sister, as you have seen, dear readers. To add to the fun, Professor Snape had just turned up. What would happen next, you may ask? You shall find out soon enough.

But at least Hermione’s troubles would be abated for awhile.


	28. Just Worried

Hermione was unaware of just how much trouble she had caused by running away. She had only been thinking of the danger to her parents had they stayed where they were, and the fact that she had reached them in time. Regulus had been so welcoming. Now they just had to face Professor Snape, no doubt furious about her disappearing act.

 

_“What if they followed me?”_

_“Only people who have been here before can come here, unless they’re brought by someone else, like when Severus brought you. And then they have to be given permission to return by both of us. I was watching from outside when he brought you here, you know. I wanted to say ‘hello’ so much, but I just couldn’t. I guess I was afraid, too.”_

_“So that will be Professor Snape, then?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Sure enough, the potions professor burst into the room moments later._

 

The door smacked against the wall, and the potion master’s eyes swept the room. They narrowed at Hermione.

“I knew it,” he said. “I never should have shown you this place.”

“Where else could I take them?” she asked. Professor Snape glanced at her parents, his gaze soon flicking back to Hermione.

“I wish to speak to you alone, Miss Granger,” he said. “Now.”

“Wait a second, Sev…”

“No, Regulus. I suppose you are letting them stay?”

“Of course.”

“Then show the Grangers to their rooms.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but obeyed. Hermione’s parents looked at her as they followed their host, but she smiled reassuringly. Once she was alone with her professor, however, she shrank back.

“Uh… hello again, sir.”

“Miss Granger.” His hands were clenched, and he was breathing through his nostrils. “Just what in Merlin’s name did you think you were doing?”

“Protecting my parents, _sir_.”

“Do not take that tone with me, young lady.”

“Professor, did the headmaster tell you of our conversation?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“Just how much?”

“Judging from your behaviour, I am beginning to believe that he did not tell me the whole story. At least, I am hoping that that is the case. You have usually been reasonably level-headed. Perhaps you would care to explain the whole situation to me?”

“I’ll do better than that, if you let me have a Pensieve.”

She extracted memories for the second time that day. It was still the twenty-fifth of December, but it felt like days had passed. Professor Snape stepped up to the bowl, bent over it, and disappeared from view as he fell into the memories. Hermione let Crookshanks out of his cage, apologising to him. He wound himself around her ankles, stroking her legs with his tail; and when she sat on the couch, he leapt into her lap.

“Thank you, Crooks,” she whispered, stroking his fur. He purred in response.

When the professor returned, he gripped the table in front of him. Hermione could see him taking deep, slow breaths. She moved Crookshanks onto the couch beside her, and stood.

“Sir?” she asked. He held up a single hand, and she stayed put. “Professor Snape.”

“Wait… Miss Granger.” His voice was tight. She remained silent, until he finally turned around to face her.

“Uh…” He looked even more furious than before, and she took a step back.

“I am… _not_ angry with you,” he said, and she relaxed. “Just at… at _them_.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think, girl? Your former friends; the men who kidnapped you; the old manipulator who tried to endanger your life. You did indeed do the right thing, though I wish I could have had the chance to help you.”

“Oh, but you did, sir,” she said, stepping forward. “You brought me here…”

“Allow me to finish.” She nodded. “I cannot explain the headmaster’s behaviour. However, I shall keep your location secret. Do you intend to return to Hogwarts?”

“I want to, but I just can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t. There’s so little for me there. And I want to get to know Regulus while I still can. If—when—the time for battle comes, I will be needed. I want to know more of my history, the part that only Regulus can tell. Just in case anything… happens. To either of us.”

“Your friends?”

“Did Neville get my message?”

“How else do you think _I_ found out?” he asked, smirking. Hermione smiled.

“I’m glad he felt brave enough to tell you.”

“Actually, his grandmother did. Longbottom was busy contacting your other friends. Miss Weasley would no doubt have told her family straight away.”

“What about… You-Know-Who? How did he take our disappearance? Do you know?”

“I will find out from Lucius,” he said. “I believe he went along to the raid, no doubt to try and help your parents if he could, or protect you if you were already there.”

“Did they get through the wards?” she asked.

“I do not know, Miss Granger.” She hung her head. He tilted her chin up. “You did do well today. Do not doubt that. Until classes resume, try to make up your mind about what you will do, whether you will return to Hogwarts, or if you would prefer for me to bring you homework.”

“What will you tell them, sir?”

“That you and your parents are safe for the time being, and that I know how to communicate with you. You have your books?” She tilted her head, and arched her eyebrows. “I should have known.” He dropped his hand as they heard someone. It was Regulus, standing at the door, looking from one to the other.

“Shall I show you your room, Hermione?” he asked, though he was looking at Professor Snape while he spoke.

“Yes, thank you.” She scooped up the bags, gave her teacher a half-smile, and followed her brother down a hallway. Her parents were in one room which they passed. She left their bags with them, and Regulus re-sized them for her. Then they continued their walk.

“I decorated this for you ages ago,” he said, leading her to a room with a bright blue door. It had her initials painted on the front in big, gold lettering. He opened it, and showed her inside. “Just in case…”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” she said, and she sighed in contentment. There was a single wooden bed with a cream-coloured quilt, a matching dressing table, desk and chair, and wardrobe. Similar wooden shelves covered the walls, filled with books of all sorts. The floor was a soft and golden carpet. The curtains were blue and yellow.

“I know it probably doesn’t look like the Gryffindor dorms, but I just couldn’t decorate in those colours, and I thought you probably wouldn’t want green and silver. You can change anything you want…”

“Regulus, _you_ did this for me,” she said, smiling at him. “Why would I want to change it?”

He shrugged, and then smiled. “I remember when Mother was pregnant with you. It was only the early stages; but when Father wasn’t around, I’d kneel beside her in front of the fireplace, and I’d talk to you.”

“How… how did I come about? I mean, why did they…”

“You want to know about their affair?”

“Not the sordid details,” she said, eyes wide. He chuckled.

“No. But I think you should have some lunch first.” Her stomach rumbled on cue, and she blushed. “Thought so. We’ll see if Severus is still around.”

 

Assuming, dear readers, that he hadn’t scared the potions master off with his big-brother look.

Worry not; Hermione would indeed be fed. She would have conflicting emotions during the coming weeks. But, as always, that is for another chapter, my dear ones. Until then, fairfarren.


	29. Lunch Time

Christmas Day was becoming one of the most eventful days of Hermione’s life. She had been rejected by her two former best friends once again; kidnapped by three Death Eaters after that; the headmaster tried to convince her to become a spy; she had to rescue her parents from an attack; and she was finally reunited with one of her half-brothers, the one they had always thought was dead. Now Professor Snape was there, and they were about to have a late Christmas lunch.

 

_He shrugged, and then smiled. “I remember when Mother was pregnant with you. It was only the early stages; but when Father wasn’t around, I’d kneel beside her in front of the fireplace, and I’d talk to you.”_

_“How… how did I come about? I mean, why did they…”_

_“You want to know about their affair?”_

_“Not the sordid details,” she said, eyes wide. He chuckled._

_“No. But I think you should have some lunch first.” Her stomach rumbled on cue, and she blushed. “Thought so. We’ll see if Severus is still around.”_

 

Lunch was cold turkey, potatoes, sliced meats, greens, corn, and pull-apart bread loaf. Hermione would have willingly dug in with surprising ferocity, but forced herself to eat properly, at a good pace. Professor Snape had agreed to stay for lunch, so she wanted to draw it out. Regulus peppered her parents with questions about her childhood.

“…nose always stuck in a book… such a good girl… never gave her teachers trouble… lovely surprise to find out that she was a witch… explained so much…”

She listened with half an ear. Most of her attention was on her potions professor. He had been planning to dine with Regulus anyway, under the pretence of eating alone.

He was glad that he had stayed.

Both were thinking about the night of the Malfoy’s ball.

They recalled the sensations of whirling around the ballroom in each other’s arms; the heady aromas from the food, the drink, and their dancing partner. They recalled Hermione’s walk down the stairs at Hogwarts, where she fell into his arms. They recalled the carriage ride to Malfoy Manor. They recalled their escape from the press and to St. Mungo’s hospital.

Above all, they recalled the feelings that had stirred—not started, just stirred—that night.

In truth, the feelings had already started long before the ball.

“Sir?” Hermione said. He was staring at her. The question made him snap out of it.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” he asked.

“You… you were surprised when my family tree was revealed. But Regulus told me that you let him impersonate you so that he could see me in hospital.”

“Indeed.”

“So… why were you surprised?”

“Miss Granger, the people in this room are the only people who know that your half-brother is still alive. It is important that this is kept secret. No one was supposed to know about you, not until the right time.”

“Which would be…?”

He sighed. “Either when the Dark Lord was defeated, or if ever I was revealed to be a spy. My position would have been jeopardised had he found out that I was harbouring a man who I was supposed to kill for treachery. My days as a spy over. Regulus, and your parents, were the only people who knew that you were adopted, and only Regulus knew your true heritage. Do you know how it came about?”

“I’m going to tell her later,” Regulus said, now listening to their conversation.

“I had to pretend to be surprised so that the headmaster—in fact, anyone—would not grow suspicious. Eventually, it would have been revealed to you. The problem is, I am concerned already about my position as spy. Professor Dumbledore knows of my concerns, which is no doubt why he was trying to recruit you. The Dark Lord is more paranoid than ever, and I fear that he will discover my deception. I am an expert Legillimens, as you know.” Hermione nodded. “I knew that you were curious about your family tree. In other words, Miss Granger, I arranged it so that you would discover your true parentage.”

“But ‘deceased’ was written under your name,” Hermione said to Regulus, who grinned.

“Did you see that before or after Severus handled the parchment?”

“Oh,” she said, looking at her professor wide-eyed. “I see. You used a Glamour, didn’t you?”

“Not quite, but close enough. Well done, Miss Granger,” he drawled, arching an eyebrow.

“We brought photo albums,” Mr. Granger told Regulus. He brightened up.

“May I see them?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Granger said. “Are you still eating, Hermione?”

“Yes, Mum. But that’s all right. So is Professor Snape.”

“Very well,” Regulus said, standing. “Look after her, Severus.”

“I will.”

The Grangers and Regulus left the dining room, leaving Hermione and Professor Snape alone.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

“For what, Miss Granger?”

“For everything. For helping the war effort, for letting my family stay here, for helping me find out who my real parents are…”

“Much good it did you,” he said, raising an eyebrow again.

“Well, I only need the one family,” she said, but she still looked sad. “Maybe one day my father will accept me. And my mother… we shall see. I wish that Sirius was here. I know how much you hate him,” she added quickly, “but he is still my brother. Regulus has been lovely, and I do believe that I love him as a full brother, not just a half-one, but at least I know Sirius. You know,” she giggled, “I used to berate him, say that he was treating Harry like a mini-James. And he was, you know. Now that I think about it, it was almost as though we were fighting like a brother and sister.” She started to shed tears. “I just… now I wish that I’d known before. All that lost t-time.” She patted at her eyes with her napkin, bottom lip trembling. “He could have reconciled with Regulus. I just wish there was some way to b-bring him back!”

She bent over the table, weeping. He stood, strode around the table, and pulled her into his arms without a second thought.

“Hush, Hermione,” he whispered, rocking her back and forth as she sobbed. “Calm down. There may yet be a way.”

“…What?” She pulled back, looking up at him. He exhaled slowly.

“I said, Miss Granger, that there may be a way.”

“A way to…”

“To bring him back. I cannot be sure—it will take much research—but it is possible…”

“I can do research!” she exclaimed. “Professor, it’s something I can do while we’re hiding out here. I just need books, parchment, ink, and quills.”

He half-smiled, and nodded. “You must not get your hopes up, but… Very well.”

“Oh, _thank_ you, sir!” she said, throwing her arms around him. She nuzzled his neck, and placed a kiss on his cheek. As she started to move back, their eyes met, and they froze in place.

Lips… so close…

They leant towards each other…

 

It was certainly a different kind of Christmas lunch, dear readers. The important question at the moment is: would they kiss? If so, would they be interrupted? If not, what then?

And what would happen if they went uninterrupted?

Until next time, fair readers.


	30. So Close

Readers, what can I say? Lunch passed; Regulus and the Grangers looked at photos; and the following happened:

 

_“I said, Miss Granger, that there may be a way.”_

_“A way to…”_

_“To bring him back. I cannot be sure—it will take much research—but it is possible…”_

_“I can do research!” she exclaimed. “Professor, it’s something I can do while we’re hiding out here. I just need books, parchment, ink, and quills.”_

_He half-smiled, and nodded. “You must not get your hopes up, but… Very well.”_

_“Oh, thank you, sir!” she said, throwing her arms around him. She nuzzled his neck, and placed a kiss on his cheek. As she started to move back, their eyes met, and they froze in place._

_Lips… so close…_

_They leant towards each other…_

 

“We cannot do this.”

“We can.”

“Miss Granger…”

“Shut up,” she whispered, and she pulled his head down to hers. He couldn’t stop her from kissing him; and he sure as hell wasn’t complaining as her lips moved against his, coaxing his mouth open. His arms dropped to her waist, and he let them rest there while she clutched his shoulders. Their tongues met, and he gripped her hips with sudden, bruising intensity. She moaned, and he pulled back.

“I… you…”

“That was wonderful, sir,” she said, stroking his face. “Absolutely wonderful.”

“It should not have happened, Miss Granger.”

“Oh, yes, it should have. It’s been coming for too long. Far too long.” She ran her fingers into his hair, and pulled him back. “Sir, kiss me again.”

“No.”

“ _Please_.”

“Your family is in the next room!”

“They’re two rooms away.”

“Oh, because that makes it so much better,” he said, pushing her back. “Please tell Regulus that I had to go back to Hogwarts.”

“No. Stay here. With me.” She grabbed his arm, and tugged him towards the door furthest from the living room, the one that would lead them to the bedrooms. His eyes widened, and he wrenched her hand away.

“Control yourself, Miss Granger. You are under some delusion that I am willing to jump into bed with you. No doubt teenage hormones are to blame. Either way, I refuse to make love to you in the same place where your parents are staying.”

“You can cast a Silencing Charm if you’re so worried.”

“You do _not_ know what you are saying.”

She looked at the floor. “Yes, I do. I am well aware of what I’m saying. And it is partly due to the war, this desperation. I don’t want to miss out on giving myself to the man I lo…”

“No!” he said, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Do not say that, Miss Granger.”

“Fine.” She scowled at him. “But don’t forget me.”

“For… forget you?”

“ _When_ we win the war, don’t forget me. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I am your teacher.”

“Does that really matter?” He snorted, rolling his eyes. “No, really. Does it?”

“You are a blind if you cannot see how wrong it is.”

“Love isn’t wrong…”

“I _told_ you not to say that word,” he hissed. Standing nose-to-nose with her by now, his eyes boring into hers, he continued. “Miss Granger, if we go any further than we have today, I could lose my job, you could lose your credibility, the Dark Lord could find out, and just think what your brothers would do to me. So many different punishments for one selfish pleasure.” She looked down, and he could see tears on her eyelashes already. He sighed, and his voice turned gentle. “If you are so set on this, wait until you are finished at Hogwarts, and until the war is over. Should we both survive, _then_ you may approach me again. And I would gladly— _gladly_ —do as you wish.” He stroked her hair, and kissed her on the nose. “More than that I cannot promise. I am… flattered that you would think of me in such a way.”

“Do you love me back, though?”

He tilted his head, and smiled softly. “Perhaps. Allow me time to examine my feelings.”

She nodded. But before she left the room, she stood on her toes, and pressed her lips to his. Their mouths parted immediately, and she felt herself being backed into the wall as passion rapidly took over. She began to stroke his thigh with her leg, when he tore his mouth away from her.

“I could go on kissing you forever, but I must not,” he said, and he strode to the other side of the room. “You are dangerous for me, Hermione. _Very_ dangerous.” He looked at her flushed face, and opened the door. “Merry Christmas, Miss Granger.”

“Merry Christmas… Severus.”

She saw him bite his lower lip. She was sure he’d never done that before. He nodded, and swept out of the room. She collapsed against the wall, sliding to the floor. Just then, she heard loud laughter from the living room. Her lips were still tingling, and felt plumper than usual. She licked them, and grinned. Standing, she hurried to the bathroom; and, with the help of much cold water and a fluffy towel, she felt presentable enough to return to her family.

Now, if only she could wipe that silly grin off her face…

A merry Christmas indeed, she thought, skipping into the room. She plopped into Regulus’ lap, and contributed to the (often embarrassing) stories that her parents were telling him.

“What about the time she came into the surgery dressed as the tooth fairy?” Mrs. Granger said, and Mr. Granger laughed. Hermione buried her head in her brother’s shoulder, which was shaking with amusement.

“No,” she said. “Not that one.”

“Please?” Regulus said. He gave her puppy-dog eyes worthy of his older brother.

“Oh… fine then. But, in my defence, I was only four at the time.”

“Noted,” he said. “Who’ll start it off?”

 

A happy afternoon was spent with more stories and more photographs, dear readers. All the time, Hermione’s mind would wander back to that kiss—more than one kiss—with her potions professor. What did it mean? Why should she care what it had meant?

He had kissed her!

Day turned to night, night brought dreams, and dreams led to daytime.

But that, my readers, is for another chapter.


	31. The Burrow

Again, what can one say, dear readers? Hermione’s Christmas had been eventful, and she slept soundly after her brief but intense snogging sessions with the potions master. While the day started in drama, it ended happily. She fell asleep in her brother’s lap, and he put her to bed.

However, at the Burrow, at Malfoy Manor, at St. Mungo’s, and at Hogwarts, things had been far from calm. Fitting justice for the morning Hermione had gone through.

 

_A merry Christmas indeed, she thought, skipping into the room. She plopped into Regulus’ lap, and contributed to the (often embarrassing) stories that her parents were telling him._

_“What about the time she came into the surgery dressed as the tooth fairy?” Mrs. Granger said, and Mr. Granger laughed. Hermione buried her head in her brother’s shoulder, which was shaking with amusement._

_“No,” she said. “Not that one.”_

_“Please?” Regulus said. He gave her puppy-dog eyes worthy of his older brother._

_“Oh… fine then. But, in my defence, I was only four at the time.”_

_“Noted,” he said. “Who’ll start it off?”_

 

“You inconsiderate git, Ron Weasley!” Ginny shouted. She used her infamous Bot-Bogey Hex on him, and then turned her wand on Harry. “And _you_. When did you become so weak? I’m ashamed of you, Harry Potter.”

“I wanted to apologise,” he said. “I was going to. But Ron…”

“Oi!” Ron said, scraping at his face. “Don’t blame this on me, mate. I’m just trying to help you. Ginny, get rid of this!”

“Don’t you dare, Gin,” George said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not the only one…”

“Who cares about Hermione, you know,” Fred finished.

“Mum!” Ron whined. “Can’t you make them stop?”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley,” she said, “you have made Hermione very unhappy, a girl we all hold dear. Your behaviour has been inexcusable, young man! I hope that, if ever you have the sense to apologise to her, she doesn’t accept it.”

“I agree,” Arthur said, frowning at his youngest son. “This is disgraceful, Ron. I thought we’d raised you better than this. And I expected better of you, Harry. You’ve always been such a nice lad. You shouldn’t have let your hatred of the Malfoys lead to this.”

“Well, Ron was right, you know,” Harry mumbled. “But then I thought about it a bit more. I remembered second year and fourth year. Hermione was there for me when I was an outcast, and when no one else was there for me. I wanted to make it up to her, but I didn’t know how. I don’t know how.”

“Why should we?” Ron said. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You _are_ a git, Ron,” he said, glaring at him. “I thought you were decent. I can’t believe this is the boy I made friends with on the Hogwarts Express when we were only eleven.”

“Well, a bloke’s gotta grow up, stand up for himself, make his own decisions.” He puffed out his chest, but then quailed under the scowls of his family. “Look, we’ve always hated the Malfoys!”

“Yeah, but Hermione’s not a Malfoy,” Ginny said. “She’s… Hermione.”

“She’s got their blood, though…”

“Shut up, Ron!” everyone shouted, including Harry. Just then, they heard loud knocking at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Arthur said. He was surprised to see who was there. “Hello, Severus. Merry Christmas!”

“Where is she?”

“She? Oh, Hermione.”

“ _Yes_. Something’s wrong. I can feel it. Where is she?”

“She, uh…” He scratched his head, looking somewhat ashamed. “She left.”

“She _what_?” he hissed.

“She ran away. There was an argument, and…”

“You scared her away?”

“No, Severus.”

“She was supposed to leave with me, _not_ by herself, the foolish girl,” Professor Snape said. He gripped the doorframe, taking deep breaths through his nose. “If anything has happened to her…”

“Now, wait a minute, Severus…”

“It was our fault, Professor,” Harry said, stepping forward. “Me and Ron. She left because of what Ron said, and I didn’t stop her. Or him.” He received a murderous glance from the potions master for his confession. “Uh, so she hasn’t gone back to school?”

“No, she hasn’t returned to school! Why the hell would you let her leave like that?” His gaze travelled to each and every Weasley, ending with Ron. “If one single hair on her head is harmed because of your _behaviour_ , Weasley, I will hold you personally responsible, and ensure that…”

“I’m here, sir.”

The professor whirled around. The Weasleys—except Ron—were relieved to see Hermione unharmed, or at least _looking_ unharmed. Harry was relived, too, but he was also ashamed of himself, disgusted with Ron, and felt unworthy to be at the Burrow.

“Thank the gods,” Professor Snape said. He all but ran over to her, and pulled her close. He spoke to the Weasleys again. “If she has been hurt…”

“They know, professor. Can we just go back to Hogwarts now?”

He nodded, and held out a lemon drop jar. Those at the front door couldn’t hear what was said, but they saw Hermione half-smile at her teacher. Then they disappeared.

“Well,” Molly said. It broke the silence. Arthur closed the door, and they all filed back into the living room. Harry didn’t sit down, though.

“I think… I think I should leave,” he said.

“Don’t be silly, Harry dear,” Molly told him, her voice tired. “Where else do you have to go?”

“I could go to the Dursleys…” Half a dozen looks were shot at him, each saying ‘Don’t you dare’. “Or Hogwarts. Oh. Hermione will be there. Uh, I could go to Grimmauld Place. I mean, it’s empty at the moment, but Kreacher will be there. Number Twelve was left to me. I… I haven’t done anything with it, but…”

“You may as well stay for lunch,” Arthur said, resting his head on one hand. “You’re too young to be alone for Christmas. You can then return to Hogwarts if you like.”

“Actually,” he said, backing away, “I’ll just go to Hogsmeade. I can get a room at the Three Broomsticks, or something. Or go to the Leaky Cauldron.”

“You can floo from here, then,” Ginny said, standing. Her family looked at her in surprise, and so did Harry. But he followed her to the fireplace. He took a pinch of the green powder from the plant pot, stepped in, and departed.

 

Dear readers, Harry was feeling remorse.

And he wasn’t the only one.

No, I am not referring to the ever-annoying Ronald Weasley. But you will see who I mean in the next posting of… “Purity”!


	32. The Malfoys

Well, readers, having made a confusing jump back in time (admittedly, only by a number of hours), the last post concerned the Christmas Day of the Weasleys and Harry. He, however, was not the only person who felt guilt.

Hermione’s other half-brother had yet to learn of her two disappearances, although he was still worried about her. Part of this was thanks to the unfair treatment she had received from their father.

 

_“I could go to the Dursleys…” Half a dozen looks were shot at him, each saying ‘Don’t you dare’. “Or Hogwarts. Oh. Hermione will be there. Uh, I could go to Grimmauld Place. I mean, it’s empty at the moment, but Kreacher will be there. Number Twelve was left to me. I… I haven’t done anything with it, but…”_

_“You may as well stay for lunch,” Arthur said, resting his head on one hand. “You’re too young to be alone for Christmas. You can then return to Hogwarts if you like.”_

_“Actually,” he said, backing away, “I’ll just go to Hogsmeade. I can get a room at the Three Broomsticks, or something. Or go to the Leaky Cauldron.”_

_“You can floo from here, then,” Ginny said, standing. Her family looked at her in surprise, and so did Harry. But he followed her to the fireplace. He took a pinch of the green powder from the plant pot, stepped in, and departed._

 

“It was completely unnecessary,” Lucius said, glaring at his father yet again. Abraxas had been released into their custody, and had been installed in one of the upper levels of Malfoy Manor, in a reasonably comfortable abode. He was confined to that room, and was currently still bedridden. There had been nowhere else for him to go, as he was not allowed to return to his own estate.

“Do stop going on about it, boy,” Abraxas said, frowning right back.

“She is your daughter.”

“She is no Malfoy,” he said, looking away. Lucius stood up from the armchair where he had been trying to read.

“And she is no Black,” he said, “but she is family by blood. And I would like her to be part of our _actual_ family, even if it is not in name. Your behaviour was shameful.”

“How was I to know that she had given me blood?” Abraxas asked.

“Just think,” Lucius said, crossing the room to look out the window. “How ironic it is that she, who we all thought to be a Mud… a Muggleborn, has given you some of her _pure_ blood.”

“That is not irony. Do you not know the meaning of the word, boy?”

“Do not quibble, Father. I expect you to apologise to her one day, preferably soon.”

“Like hell!”

Lucius turned, and raised his eyebrows. He had never heard such language come from his father.

“It is Christmas Eve,” he said slowly. “Tomorrow evening, I shall ensure that she is here for dinner, and you will conduct yourself in a civil manner. Did you not see the resemblance to her mother?” Abraxas looked away. “Tomorrow, Father.”

 

After his son had left the room, Abraxas thought. He remembered Hermione all right. His daughter. An accomplished young witch, who had the misfortune to be on the wrong side of the war. Perhaps if he was kinder towards her she would be swayed? They could use her talents; the Dark Lord could use her talents.

Surely Lucius could not object to that?

He settled back on the pillows, hands behind his head. He sat up in shock as he recalled the last time he had done that.

1979…

 

_“This should feel wrong,” Wally said, clutching the covers in shock. Abraxas lay beside her, the Malfoy smirk plastered all over his face as he reclined casually. He could never be like this with Prunella._

_“Maybe it is a sign,” he said, tilting his head down to look at her. She smiled up at him nervously. “If it does not feel wrong, then it cannot be wrong.”_

_She laughed. “You could use that argument with anything.”_

_“You certainly could, my love.”_

_She sighed, and shuffled further under the covers. He broke away from his posture to tickle her, and she shrieked as his hands wandered…_

 

That was the day she told him that Regulus knew about them, that he had figured it out. She had almost told him something else, but then they had received word that Orion had collapsed, and was dying. By that evening, he had passed away.

An affair that had lasted three months died with him.

“Wally,” he whispered hoarsely. Now he was the one clutching the covers, only this time in pain. Not physical pain. He had taken potions for that. This was purely emotional. She _had_ tried to tell him. The news about her husband had gotten in the way. Out of guilt, she had ended their illicit relationship.

With Regulus and Sirius both dead, there was only one piece of Walburga left in the world, a piece that looked so like her… and he had sent it away.

 

The next day, he waited anxiously by the fire. Lucius had Levitated him down the stairs so that he could sit in the living room. It was neutral territory, just in case Hermione felt nervous.

Draco, the petulant boy, was sitting, cross-armed and –legged, by the Christmas tree. Narcissa was nearby, calm and cool as ever. Lucius was behaving more distant than ever with his father, and rightly so. Abraxas felt guilty as hell. He could now empathise with Walburga, and how she must have felt until the day she died.

He was fully prepared to make up with Hermione. In fact, he was eager to see her. Unknown to Lucius and Narcissa, he had sent a house elf to retrieve something from his estate to give to his daughter. He had bought it before Lucius was born. He and Prunella hadn’t known whether to expect a boy or girl. Abraxas had wanted a daughter, although he didn’t know why. Just the thought of a little girl, all pink and soft and… and cuddly. She would grow up beautiful and strong, and make her doting father proud.

So he secretly bought something in advance: a locket. He’d had a message to her engraved inside.

When Lucius was born, he hadn’t had the heart to part from it. His marriage only survived as it did because he tried desperately for a girl.

…Maybe that was why he had turned to Walburga? Maybe his subconscious had decided that only she could give him what he wanted?

After all, she was what he had wanted, right from the start.

Although he had been forbidden to use too much magic, he had used his daily quota for today on Transfiguring wrapping paper and ribbon, and making a card. It was worth it. He had made it gold wrapping paper and black ribbon; special and unusual, just like his Hermione.

“Hermione,” he said, fingering the gift hidden in his pocket. Lucius paused as he knelt by the fire, but seemingly dismissed whatever had caused him to halt in his movements. He placed a floo call to Hogwarts, to Severus Snape’s quarters.

“What is it, Lucius?” the potions master asked. Abraxas could hear the irritation in his voice.

“We would like to invite Hermione to the manor for Christmas dinner. Naturally, you are invited as well,” Lucius said.

“How kind, but Miss Granger will be unable to attend.”

“Why?” Abraxas asked sharply. His family looked at him strangely.

“Because Miss Granger is not at Hogwarts. In fact, she went missing early this afternoon. Now, if you will excuse me…”

“Missing?” they all shouted.

 

The news had now reached the Malfoys, as you can see. There would be further things happening that Christmas Day, my dear readers. Their story is far from over.

Until next time then?

Indeed.


	33. Leaky Cauldron

When last we met, fair readers, we visited the Malfoys. Abraxas was feeling remorseful over the treatment of his only daughter, a daughter he had wished for ever since he learned that he was to be a father. And then, on Christmas evening, the Malfoys were told that Hermione had gone off the proverbial radar.

(Though how such a technology got into a proverb is beyond me, readers. Next thing you know, laptops will make their way into clichés.)

Where was I?

 

_“What is it, Lucius?” the potions master asked. Abraxas could hear the irritation in his voice._

_“We would like to invite Hermione to the manor for Christmas dinner. Naturally, you are invited as well,” Lucius said._

_“How kind, but Miss Granger will be unable to attend.”_

_“Why?” Abraxas asked sharply. His family looked at him strangely._

_“Because Miss Granger is not at Hogwarts. In fact, she went missing early this afternoon. Now, if you will excuse me…”_

_“Missing?” they all shouted._

 

Harry sighed, and lay down on the bed. He kept mentally kicking himself for the way he had behaved towards Hermione. Looking back, he and Ron never treated her very well. In their first year, she nearly got killed at least three or four times because of them, even though Ron had been so rude. In their second year, she nearly died yet again, but still told them what was responsible, not to mention believed in him.

Third year, she helped him save his godfather. Fourth, she was the only person at school who believed that he hadn’t put his name in the goblet. No evidence. She just… believed in him. Again. And last year, she went into battle with him against the enemy, _again_ nearly dying in the process, even though she had been right all along.

“I’m sorry, `Mione,” he whispered. “You stood by us every time, and when you needed us…” He kicked off his shoes, and groaned. “I’m such an idiot.”

What could he do to make it up to her? He hadn’t even gotten her a Christmas present. Maybe he could buy one now?

“On Christmas Day? Oh, great idea,” he said, kicking the air. “Maybe I should just go back to school?”

But, since he had paid for the night, he decided to stay. He’d go back to Hogwarts the next day, and face Hermione then. And Dumbledore, too. The headmaster would tell him what to do. He always did.

Somehow, Harry drifted off to sleep. When he woke, it was because his door was nearly being knocked down. He leapt up, wand in hand. He relaxed marginally when Fred and George came in, more serious than usual.

“Hi,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Mum sent you a piece of cake,” George said, thrusting a package at him. He accepted it, and then frowned.

“Identify yourselves,” he said. The boys rolled their eyes.

“We gave you the Marauders Map,” Fred told him.

“Pinched it from Filch once.”

“So you could get to Hogsmeade secretly.”

“Satisfied?” they asked together. Harry nodded.

“Uh, tell Mrs. Weasley ‘thanks’, would you?” he said.

“We’ve got news,” George said.

“Serious news,” Fred added.

“Hermione’s missing.”

“Disappeared a second time.”

“No one knows where she is.”

“What?” Harry asked, eyes wide. “Why not? When did this happen? Was it Death Eaters?”

“Not this time.”

“The first time it was.”

“No, she ran away.”

“Her parents were attacked.”

“ _That_ was by Death Eaters.”

“And You-Know-Who.”

“She got her parents out safely, though.”

“The cat, too.”

Harry was getting dizzy, and he shut his eyes.

“So no one knows where she is.”

“Right,” the twins said.

“What’s being done to find her?”

“We don’t know,” Fred said.

“But we thought you should be told,” George said.

“Being one of her former best friends.”

“Dad sent us.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and he scratched his head. “Thanks. Um, keep me posted, will you? I’m going back to school tomorrow. But until then, could you…”

“Gotta go now,” they said. “Bye!”

Before he could speak, they left. He sank down onto the bed.

“Missing?” he said. “What a bloody mess.”

He stood up, and went downstairs for a drink. Maybe Tom could spare some eggnog.

 

It was a good thing Harry had had a rest, readers, as he couldn’t sleep a wink that night.

But we have yet to leave Christmas Day. I apologise for any confusion, my dears. This was still the twenty-fifth of December, clearly.

The longest day in this fic, by far.


	34. Death Eaters

The Death Eaters who had kidnapped Hermione had yet to be punished. That night, after the events at the Burrow, at Malfoy Manor, at the Leaky Cauldron and at Professor Snape’s secret hideaway, Voldemort called a meeting.

 

_“Yeah,” Harry said, and he scratched his head. “Thanks. Um, keep me posted, will you? I’m going back to school tomorrow. But until then, could you…”_

_“Gotta go now,” they said. “Bye!”_

_Before he could speak, they left. He sank down onto the bed._

_“Missing?” he said. “What a bloody mess.”_

_He stood up, and went downstairs for a drink. Maybe Tom could spare some eggnog._

 

“Antonin,” Voldemort said, beckoning to one of his Death Eaters. “Augustus. Evan.”

All three men knelt before him, not even daring to look at each other. He remained silent, increasing the suspense in his drama-queen Slytherin-type way. Finally, he leant forward, and hummed quietly.

“Severus,” he hissed. Professor Snape stepped up to him. “Lucius, Narcissa. Where is Draco?”

“He went to bed, my lord,” Lucius said. “He stayed up with my father until half an hour ago.”

“He is not only your father, though, is he?” Voldemort said, sitting back in his chair, and steepling his fingers. “I believe your sister has disappeared?”

“She has indeed gone missing, my lord.”

“When was this?”

“She has not been seen since the attack on her parents’ house, my lord,” Professor Snape said. “After her conversation with the headmaster, she went to see her parents. All four left.”

“Four?” the Dark Lord asked.

“Including that menace of a cat.”

“I see. Continue.”

“She is not at Hogwarts. She never returned to the Gryffindor common room, and never made contact with the Weasleys. She had been seen at Hogsmeade a few times that day, including when I escorted her and after she had escaped from those who kidnapped her.” He scowled at Dolohov, Rookwood and Rosier. “The few people who had seen her around were unable to say what time they last saw her. If you permit me to say so, my lord, she would no doubt shy away from Hogsmeade, in case of another ambush.”

“No doubt due to you three fools,” Voldemort said, and the three kneeling men flinched bodily. “Antonin, I can understand you wishing revenge on her for the bungle at the Ministry of Magic last year. Although it has turned out to be a good thing that you did not kill her. She will be useful.” He twirled his wand. “Assuming, of course, that she has not been frightened off.” His eyes narrowed to their snakelike slits. “Augustus, I do not know why you felt compelled to do this. You, after all, did not fail me at the Ministry, as you gave information that would have been valuable. Evan,” he said, looking at the third man, “I am disappointed. Your namesake, your father, died while resisting arrest. He was a faithful follower.”

“My lord, I live only to serve you. I was just doing what I thought…”

“Crucio.”

Rosier Junior tried not to scream as he writhed on the floor. Rookwood and Dolohov didn’t move away, even though he was flailing far too close to them for comfort. A few minutes later, Voldemort flicked his wand to end the Cruciatus Curse. However, he then turned his attention to Rosier’s co-conspirators.

“Lucius?” he said. “Would you care to punish them for what they did to your sister?”

Lucius glanced at the men in front of him briefly. Could he do this in Hermione’s name? She would hate it.

…But then, she would also hate it if he got hurt, wouldn’t she?

Assuming she was all right, wherever she was.

And why wasn’t Severus more concerned?

“You seem to be undecided, Lucius,” Voldemort said.

“It is difficult to choose who to punish, without knowing who might have hurt her more,” he drawled, stalling. But the Dark Lord wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. He would just have to choose someone. Well, Rookwood was partly responsible for what happened at the Ministry; but Dolohov nearly killed Hermione there. Easy choice. He lifted his wand, and cast the spell.

Dolohov kept still and quiet better than Rosier Junior – practise, no doubt. However, the better side of Lucius was emerging as he thought more about his little half-sister. How could he do this, use an Unforgivable? He glanced at Severus, who looked back impassively. Narcissa was averting her gaze. The spell faltered, and Dolohov frowned in conclusion, relaxing. Voldemort frowned as well.

“Is there something wrong, Lucius?”

“I am merely worried about her, my lord. Would anyone here know what has happened to her?”

“They would tell me.”

“And yet after what occurred this morning…” Lucius looked at the three men pointedly.

“Are you questioning me, Lucius?”

“N-no, my lord. Forgive me. I am just worried about her. It has been an eventful day for her, from what Severus told us.”

“Hmm.” Voldemort tapped his chin casually. “Perhaps this time, but only because we need your sister on our side. She will be a valuable asset in this war.”

“But she told us she would never join,” Rosier Junior said, looking confused. Awkward silence fell.

He was tortured for the second time that evening.

 

When next we meet, my dear readers, we will see Hermione and her family again. More plans must be made, not just for the war but for Sirius. Can he be saved?

I hope we meet again soon, dear ones. I apologise for the long absence, but now that uni is no longer an issue – last exam was this morning! – more time can be spent on this story. And watch out for future fictions as well.


	35. Study Already?

During the night, Hermione had happy dreams. She felt incredibly safe where she was, and even more loved than before. She had felt more than somewhat bereft after Harry and Ron turned against her. Now she had her parents close by – where Voldemort couldn’t get at them – and another half-brother. He had even risked exposure to visit her when she was petrified.

She leapt out of bed, and got ready to face the day. With a blush, she remembered her kisses with Professor Snape, and wondered if he would be popping by that Boxing Day…

 

_“Are you questioning me, Lucius?”_

_“N-no, my lord. Forgive me. I am just worried about her. It has been an eventful day for her, from what Severus told us.”_

_“Hmm.” Voldemort tapped his chin casually. “Perhaps this time, but only because we need your sister on our side. She will be a valuable asset in this war.”_

_“But she told us she would never join,” Rosier Junior said, looking confused. Awkward silence fell._

_He was tortured for the second time that evening._

 

Hermione shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She smiled tiredly at Regulus, who was beaming at her from the countertop.

“You’re adorable,” he said. “Did you know that?”

“Thanks,” she said, and she giggled. He pulled her into his arms, and kissed her forehead. “G’morning, Regulus.”

“Good morning. What would you like for breakfast?”

“Somethin’ in the way-a food. `M still full from yesterday t’ think about it.”

“Are you usually a morning person?” he asked, amused by her incoherency.

“Yes,” she said, and she poked her tongue out at him. “I was busy yesterday, that’s all. `M like this after exams.”

“Yeah.” He looked at his feet as she leaned against the counter. “I’m sorry it ended up being such a terrible Christmas for you.”

“Hey,” she said, suddenly awake. She held his face, her touch and voice gentle. “I got the best Christmas present I could have hoped for. All I would need is Sirius, and my happiness would be complete.”

“And if the Dark Lord was destroyed.”

“And if my friends accepted me again,” she added. “Did Professor Snape tell you that we might be able to bring Sirius back?”

His eyes widened. “No, he didn’t.”

“Oh. Well, he told me that after lunch yesterday.”

“That would be…” Regulus breathed shakily. “That would be brilliant.”

“Morning,” Hermione’s mother said, tottering into the kitchen. Her husband followed.

“Hi,” Hermione said, and she gave them both a kiss on the cheek. She was perking up now, and set about making breakfast.

“There was a Death Eater meeting last night,” Regulus told them. They looked at him.

“How do you know?” Hermione asked.

“The Killing Curse may have got rid of the Dark Mark and its curse, but there’s still an ache every time he activates a Mark to call a meeting. Severus will probably be sleeping in. Hopefully he’ll be here later. I want to ask him about what he told you,” he said, looking carefully at Hermione. She nodded.

“I was too tired to think about it last night,” she said. It was half-true. Most of her thoughts, however, were about the Potions Master for _quite_ another reason.

“What are your plans for the day?” her father asked.

“I don’t know. Study for school, I expect.”

“You want to start studying already?” Regulus said. “But it’s Boxing Day!”

“It’s not as though I can go anywhere else,” she pointed out.

“But… but you could tell me more about your childhood,” he said quietly.

She paused in her preparations to pat his hand. “We have plenty of time for that, Regulus.”

“We’re in the middle of a war…”

“Not here,” she said, indicating the hideout. “We’re safe here.” He still looked put out. “How about we talk tonight, and in the meantime I can study, or… well, something.”

“I’ll contact Severus,” he said, swinging his legs where he sat. “Maybe he can give us some ideas.”

 

Professor Snape was tapping his right foot in the air, leg resting on his left knee. He had smuggled magical Christmas crackers from Hogwarts, and now the Grangers and Regulus were wearing ridiculous hats, telling jokes. Hermione kept glancing at him from beneath her furry top hat, sending little smirks his way. He had trouble keeping a ridiculous smile from forming on his face. Why in the name of Salazar’s big snake did she have to be so bloody indiscreet? Fortunately Regulus was having too good a time to notice.

“Now, what’s this Hermione was telling me about my brother?”

“Hmm?” The potions master hadn’t realised that he had been staring at Hermione, and tore his attention away from her. “To what are you referring, Regulus?”

“She said you could bring him back to life. Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asked, frowning.

“Had I known that he possessed another sibling, even if she is only a half-sibling, I would have said something. In many rituals, the person who requires healing – or, in this case, resurrecting – must have two close blood relatives. Someone closer than a cousin, otherwise Miss Tonks could have helped. Your parents are deceased, and you have no other brothers or sisters. With Miss Granger, we may yet have a chance. Loathe though I am to admit it,” he added, sneering in distaste. “Never did I think that I would be willing to raise Black from the dead.”

“But isn’t it impossible to bring someone back to life?” Hermione’s mother asked. “I mean, Hermione told us that this… You-Know-Who wasn’t really dead, and that’s why he was able to be restored to life.”

“My theory,” Professor Snape said, leaning back in his armchair, “is that Black is not really dead. The Veil is a portal to Death, but he entered in an unconventional way. Will you allow me to give you a history lesson based on my research?” He had their undivided attention. “Very well. The Veil was created as a means of ‘passive execution’, if you will permit the expression. Prisoners were always fully conscious, and were forced to walk to their death. Black, however, was not only unconscious at the time, according to the headmaster, but he also fell through backwards. Although the criminals were not always willing to die, it was the preferred method of punishment, and thus they chose the Veil. In addition, they were sent through with an enchanted scroll which listed the crimes for which they had been sentenced. It is my belief that Black is in a form of limbo.”

There was a long silence after his explanation. They were all taking it in.

“So,” Regulus said, his voice cracking as he spoke, “you… you’re basing this on a theory.”

“He may be dead; he may not be. If he _is_ dead, it is likely that he is in some hellish dimension, if you consider the condemned people for whom the Veil was created. If nothing else, we may be able to give his soul some peace, and at the same time gain some peace through knowing what really happened to him, and where he is.”

“I think it’s very well thought out,” Mr. Granger said. “But what would a ritual involve?” He made a face. “Blood-letting?”

“That would most likely be a worst case scenario. Not all rites are as gruesome as the one used to resurrect the Dark Lord.” He stood. “I must put in an appearance at Hogwarts before the headmaster tries to find me. I never know when he may come, which is why I am usually unable to spend too much time here. During the long holidays I am at Spinner’s End, of course, but…” He trailed off. “That aside, I must now depart. Good day.”

“Come back for dinner,” Mrs. Granger said.

He studied her for a moment. “Very well.”

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” Hermione said, and she hugged him tightly. He resisted the temptation to embrace her back, and instead detached her from his body.

“You are most welcome, Miss Granger.”

 

Well, readers, how was that? The Doctors Granger (referred to as Mr. and Mrs. to avoid confusion) were just as busy as the others trying to get their heads around the theory presented by Professor Snape. If they could bring Sirius back to the world of the living, just think how much it might help the Light! The possibilities were virtually endless.

…And Hermione would have her third and last half-brother.

How would their hunt for a solution go? That will be in the next chapter, fair readers. Until then, farewell!


	36. The Solution

And so they began the creatively titled Mission: Save Sirius. There was indeed a decent collection of books at the hideout, readers. However, some books were still required, and they could only be found in one place. More than that, readers, only one inhabitant would be able to steal the books with few – if any – repercussions.

Could the Grangers take books from Hogwarts? No.

Could Regulus – a supposedly dead man – take books from Hogwarts? No.

Could Professor Snape take books from Hogwarts? Yes, if he wanted to explain himself to the headmaster, even the Dark Lord, and risk exposing himself as a spy, not to mention lose his job.

Could Hermione take books from Hogwarts?

Well… we shall see, shan’t we? Read on, my dears. Read on…

 

_“I think it’s very well thought out,” Mr. Granger said. “But what would a ritual involve?” He made a face. “Blood-letting?”_

_“That would most likely be a worst case scenario. Not all rites are as gruesome as the one used to resurrect the Dark Lord.” He stood. “I must put in an appearance at Hogwarts before the headmaster tries to find me. I never know when he may come, which is why I am usually unable to spend too much time here. During the long holidays I am at Spinner’s End, of course, but…” He trailed off. “That aside, I must now depart. Good day.”_

_“Come back for dinner,” Mrs. Granger said._

_He studied her for a moment. “Very well.”_

_“Thank you, Professor Snape,” Hermione said, and she hugged him tightly. He resisted the temptation to embrace her back, and instead detached her from his body._

_“You are most welcome, Miss Granger.”_

 

Deep darkness could not hide the tiny beams of light coming from the wands of Hermione Granger and Severus Snape. The witch and wizard searched spine after spine, book after book, occasionally taking one from its shelf. They worked swiftly and softly, examining the tomes in the Restricted Section and placing some of them in a bag hanging over Hermione’s shoulder.

“Do you think it’s enough yet?” she whispered.

“You will not be able to make a repeat visit, Miss Granger. We must use the limited time we have.”

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, even though it was difficult to make out his profile. He simply ignored her, and continued to search.

Finally, they reached the end of the last shelves. Hermione checked the time, and saw that it was well past two in the morning. They’d been going for more than five hours.

“Fine,” Professor Snape said, shoving one more book into the bag. “Are you finished?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, adjusting the strap, once again grateful for the Lightening Charm that he had placed on it. “Um…”

“What is it, Miss Granger?”

She stepped closer, backing him against the shelves. She knew that he narrowed his eyes, even if she couldn’t see it. He drew in a sharp breath when she placed a hand on his chest, and she felt him tense.

“Just trying to find your shoulder,” she said, trying to sound innocent. He growled, hands fumbling for her waist. Just as she was snaking her hands behind his head, he tried to shove her away. The move forced her to pull his head down, and she caught his lips with her own. His grip on her sides tightened, but his hands shook, not moving her. She pressed her tongue forward, and he made his choice.

Pulling her tight against his body, arms finally sliding all the way around her back, he swallowed each soft moan. They tasted each other so thoroughly that Hermione didn’t realise they were moving until she felt her back hit the opposite bookshelf. The potions master abjectly refused to let her go, barely giving either of them time to breathe in between kisses.

It was only when he realised that his hands were creeping lower that he forced himself away. He checked the time, and saw that it was nearly half-past three.

“Make your… self presentable,” he panted. He cast a Cooling Charm over himself, and then Hermione. She smoothed down her clothes, and was surprised that her furious blush didn’t light up the whole library. She followed him out of the Restricted Section meekly, although it must be said that she didn’t have her wand’s light trained on the floor, but rather on the backside of her co-conspirator. He cleared his throat, and she walked faster. Neither looked at each other when he held open the gate, allowing her to pass through.

“Where do we go?” she asked softly. He Disillusioned himself, and then placed a hand on the back of her neck.

“This way,” he said, following his instincts. He had a knack for finding trouble-makers, and only eleven minutes passed before they found a corridor where two students were out after curfew, making out against the wall. Hermione drew back around the corner.

“Oh, _damn_!” she stage-whispered, and she pretended to trip over accidentally. Her wand made a loud clatter, and she picked it up, wincing for show. She heard gasps from the two students, scrabbled to her feet, and hurried on. When she reached a suit of armour, she hid behind it. Soon, she felt the hand of the potions professor once again touching her upper back.

“Let us depart now,” he said, making her jump when he whispered directly into her ear. Shivering – and not from the cold – she nodded.

 

Hermione brought another round of drinks to her parents and Regulus. Then she returned to a book on magical masonry. After all, the structure of the arch was mostly likely made with stones or bricks, no doubt fortified with… well, something.

They had left nothing to chance in their quest for complete information.

“If we attack the archway, it might suck out some of our magical energy,” she said, only half to herself.

“Yeah,” Regulus said. “Of course, it depends upon the material.”

“Does this look like it?” Mr. Granger asked. Hermione leaned across the table, and tilted her head. “It fits your description…”

“You know, I think it might be,” she said, and she stood up to walk around the table.

“I’ve checked all the others,” he added. “Either they didn’t have the same… ‘consistency’, or they weren’t the right colour. This is also the most powerful of all the possibilities. It can be manipulated…”

“It is! This is the same!” she exclaimed. She threw her arms around her father, and kissed him on the head. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, sweetheart.”

“Okay, make notes, and reference it completely. Professor Snape will want to see this,” she said in her know-it-all, bossy-boots tone.

“Whatever you say, Captain Granger,” he said, eyes crinkled in amusement. Mrs. Granger and Regulus grinned at each other. Hermione noticed none of this, and went back to her seat.

“How are you going with the blood, Mum?” she asked.

“Most rites either involve a romantic relationship or full-blood siblings,” she said. “There are a few where more distant blood ties are possible, but they aren’t as strong as Professor Snape said they must be.” Hermione’s face fell. “But we’ll keep searching, Hermione. There’ll be something.”

“Hmm.” She sighed, and went back to her book. At least people now knew that she was alive, after the ‘sighting’ the previous morning. However, it also increased the speculation about her whereabouts – for example, was she really hidden somewhere at Hogwarts, somewhere invisible to the Marauder’s Map? Also, why did she need so many books, and from the Restricted Section no less?

 

That evening, Professor Snape walked into his hiding place to the sounds of celebration. He couldn’t help but smile as Hermione was swung around in her half-brother’s arms, laughing and crying. The Grangers saw him first, and Mr. Granger immediately poured a drink.

“I gather that you have found a way to bring him back from the Veil?” he drawled.

“Yes, we have,” Mrs. Granger said, tucking her arm into his. “At least, we think so.”

“Theories are better than noth…” he said. Before he could finish, he found himself holding Hermione, who had launched herself into his arms. The warmth of her small body tested him sorely. How easy it would be to turn his head and allow their lips to meet. As easy as being hexed by Regulus or punched by Mr. Granger. Or both. Simultaneously.

He placed her on the ground.

“Control yourself, Miss Granger,” he said, raising an eyebrow. She looked put out, and he rolled his eyes. “Gryffindors. You are all so impulsive.”

 

After an exciting couple of days, the end was in sight. What was this miraculous solution? And, above all, would it work?

Tune in next chapter to find out, dear readers!


	37. A Ritual

Readers, in case you have forgotten what happened in the previous chapter (for which I would not blame you), here is a rundown:

Professor Snape and Hermione snogged in the Restricted Section;

Regulus and all three Grangers found out how to bring Sirius back… or so they thought.

Well, this is the chapter where (almost) all will be revealed!

 

_“I gather that you have found a way to bring him back from the Veil?” he drawled._

_“Yes, we have,” Mrs. Granger said, tucking her arm into his. “At least, we think so.”_

_“Theories are better than noth…” he said. Before he could finish, he found himself holding Hermione, who had launched herself into his arms. The warmth of her small body tested him sorely. How easy it would be to turn his head and allow their lips to meet. As easy as being hexed by Regulus or punched by Mr. Granger. Or both. Simultaneously._

_He placed her on the ground._

_“Control yourself, Miss Granger,” he said, raising an eyebrow. She looked put out, and he rolled his eyes. “Gryffindors. You are all so impulsive.”_

 

“ _…you can do better than that!_ ”

Hermione had seen Harry’s memory of that night, and never forgot Sirius’ death. It was the first time she had seen anyone die, and even that was in someone else’s memory, and not her own experience.

Those last words had haunted her. He had shouted them at his – their – cousin, right before she hit him with one last spell.

Those words… that spell… the material…

These led them to the solution. Now all they had to do was try it.

 

“If only we could find out what precisely she was thinking,” Hermione said.

“You don’t want to go there, Hermione,” Regulus said. “Not Bellatrix’s mind.”

“Can we please get on with this?” Professor Snape said, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course, Severus.”

“Yes, professor.”

“Good. Either side of the Veil.”

Hermione and Regulus obeyed, facing each other and standing a foot away from the arch. Mr. and Mrs. Granger sat together on one of the steps, armed with a blanket and a potions kit, since no one was sure what Sirius would be like if and when he emerged from his third prison. Professor Snape opened a flask of potion and poured it into a goblet of weaved copper, iron and tin. He walked forward, held it halfway between them, and left it resting in the air. He walked off the dais, and kept the instructions for the ritual nearby in case he needed to prompt them.

“Copper, symbol of love,” Hermione said.

“Tin, breath of life,” Regulus said. Both stepped forward, pricked their fingers with plain sewing pins, and raised their hands over the goblet.

“One drop for each child,” Hermione said, allowing three drops of her blood to fall into the goblet.

“Three drops for unity,” Regulus said, also adding three drops of blood.

“Iron for physical strength,” they said together. They each took a long drink of the potion, and replaced it on its non-existent pedestal. Both extended their bleeding hands. Only a quick glance at each other showed their nervousness, although their hesitation was brief. They thrust their hands into the Veil, the potion in their blood keeping them anchored to the outside world just as it allowed them to restore their brother.

Regulus and Hermione gasped when they felt something clutch them from the other side, even though it was supposed to happen. They were pulled slightly forward, but their combined strength managed to tug the fugitive through the curtain of magical material. Mr. and Mrs. Granger both cried out at the sight.

“The potion!” the professor snapped. Hermione and Regulus grasped the stem of the goblet, and brought the cup to Sirius’ lips. They made him down the rest of the potion. Once they had done that, they threw it into the Veil. It was all very symbolic.

The stonework shuddered, and they dragged a semi-conscious Sirius down from the dais. The Veil began to implode.

“May it never trouble anyone again,” Hermione muttered, still caught up in the formal language. Regulus helped his brother into a seat.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting Sirius’ head up so he could see. Mrs. Granger hurried forward with the potions kit, followed – at a slower pace – by the men.

“The Ministry will be aware that something has happened by now,” Professor Snape said, swiftly pulling out a Restorative Potion. “Unspeakables and Aurors will no doubt be on their way here. There is not time to waste.”

“They’ll get a nasty shock when they arrive,” Mr. Granger remarked, looking back at the Veil. The archway collapsed, and they heard screams from whatever – whoever – was trapped there. They would have been too far gone to save. Sirius was the last person in, and that had been more than six months.

They could only hope that his condition would imp…

“What the bloody hell is happening?”

“You’re back!” Hermione squealed, and she threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank the gods.”

“Hermione? What’s… _Regulus_? How…”

“Long story, mate,” Regulus said ruefully. “`Fraid we won’t have time to talk about it here.”

“We must hurry now,” Professor Snape said. “Come. It is all arranged. Everyone hold onto this.” He held out a broken instrument bow, and they all took hold, Hermione’s fingers brushing against his. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Cello.”

They whirled away.

 

Sirius had been in and out of consciousness for a few hours, and never quite awake. Certainly not lucid. Professor Snape had returned to Hogwarts as soon as possible so that he could get some marking done, and create an alibi for himself in case there was trouble from the Ministry. Even he was unsure just how much extra surveillance had been put in place since Voldemort’s return had been acknowledged.

Hermione and Regulus kept a bedside vigil, while Hermione’s parents did little things like cooking and cleaning, and listening to the wizarding wireless for any news on the Ministry break-in.

“Come on, Sirius,” Hermione whispered. She was curled up next to him, and Regulus was sitting beside the bed, holding his brother’s hand. They alternated between looking at the quilt, each other, and their patient.

“Good thing Severus instructed me so much in potions over the years,” Regulus said, referring to the numerous healing potions at hand. “He even said that I could take over his job if need be. I think… I think he meant in case…”

“In case something happened to him,” she said. He nodded. “I really hope it doesn’t. I…” He looked at her, and she faltered. She couldn’t say it. Not yet. “I don’t want him to die. He doesn’t deserve to. He deserves to live, to see all the good he has done through his work.”

“Yeah.” Regulus sighed. “Wish I knew how long this’ll take.”

“So do I. But I’d hate to rush him, just in case time has an impact on the potions’ effectiveness. Any of them.”

“That bloody Veil.”

“I agree. It’s a good thing we timed it so well. A thousand years since it had been created… it would have crumbled on the next full moon.”

“I know. Then he would’ve been lost… forever.” They both shuddered at the thought.

“It should have occurred to me sooner,” she said. He frowned, and cocked his head. “What he said about her. You said yourself that Bellatrix Lestrange is great at duelling. If so, why would she miss him? He didn’t duck at all! Her spell hit the Veil…”

“No, I’m pretty sure it hit me, darlin’.”

“Sirius!” they exclaimed.

 

He was back, fair readers! Sirius was back in the world of the living, and apparently still with some semblance of humour. In a ritual partly based on alchemical elements, his brother and half-sister were able to restore him to life, along with some kind of potion. To them, all that mattered now was that he was back. Details were irrelevant.

There would be little calm before the storm. Why? Well, that would soon be announced on the radio…

Until then, my dears, ta-ta!


	38. A Recap

Readers, Sirius was back. He was back! Oh-my-god-PONIES!

*Ehem*

Yes. Anyway.

Now Hermione had all three brothers alive, even though the last one – the one she had known the best – was the one least liked by the man that she adored. This would present many problems in the future, but far worse – far more fatal – ones lay ahead. The upcoming war would have a great impact, and loyalties would be tested.

In the meantime, they would take what they could.

 

_“Yeah.” Regulus sighed. “Wish I knew how long this’ll take.”_

_“So do I. But I’d hate to rush him, just in case time has an impact on the potions’ effectiveness. Any of them.”_

_“That bloody Veil.”_

_“I agree. It’s a good thing we timed it so well. A thousand years since it had been created… it would have crumbled on the next full moon.”_

_“I know. Then he would’ve been lost… forever.” They both shuddered at the thought._

_“It should have occurred to me sooner,” she said. He frowned, and cocked his head. “What he said about her. You said yourself that Bellatrix Lestrange is great at duelling. If so, why would she miss him? He didn’t duck at all! Her spell hit the Veil…”_

_“No, I’m pretty sure it hit me, darlin’.”_

_“Sirius!” they exclaimed._

 

“Are you back with us?” Hermione asked, clutching his hand anxiously. “Really and truly?”

“Sure I am,” he said, looking a bit confused. “`Mione, what’re you doing? Sorry to say, love, but you’re not my type, and… that thought just disturbs me.” He shook his head, grimacing. “No offence.”

“None taken,” she said, smiling as she rubbed her head against his shoulder. “We’re just glad that you’re all right.”

“‘We’? It’s the craziest thing, but I thought I saw my br… Regulus. It can’t be,” he said, sitting up abruptly when he saw his brother. “You’re dead.”

“I’m not. I never died.”

“But… _I’m_ dead…”

“Well, _I’m_ not,” Hermione said, sitting up and leaning against the wall. “None of us are dead, Sirius.” She smacked him on the arm.

“Oi! That hu… _hurt_.” It dawned on him. “I’m alive.”

“Yes, you’re alive!” Regulus and Hermione shouted, and he winced, clapping his hands over his ears.

“Okay, okay. I believe you,” he muttered. He glanced at Hermione. “So where’s Harry?”

“Not here,” Regulus said, answering for Hermione. She ducked her head, once again reminded of Harry’s betrayal.

“What d’you mean? Is he okay? What happened?” Sirius asked, swivelling to move off the bed, increasingly agitated. “Did Voldemort…”

“No!” Hermione said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sirius, he’s fine. He’s just not here, that’s all.”

“Well, where _is_ he?”

“I… I don’t know. Probably at Hogwarts.”

“Yes,” he said, relaxing. “Yes, he’d be at Hogwarts.” He smiled in relief. “So what’s been going on while I’ve been… away? I’m guessing that some time’s passed.”

“Just a bit,” Regulus said, glancing at Hermione. “First of all, there’s something you may not have known about Mother, and her relationship with Mr. Malfoy…”

 

Abraxas and Narcissa looked up as Lucius stormed into the living room.

“There was a break-in at the Ministry,” he said. “Something was destroyed in the Department of Mysteries.” He pulled on his cloak. “I only hope that the Dark Lord does not call while I am there. It is a complete mess.” He nodded to both of them, and then flooed out of the Manor.

“Perhaps Bellatrix will know,” Narcissa said, standing. “Will you be all right here?”

“I am perfectly well,” Abraxas said, waving her away. “I can take care of myself.”

“If that was true you would not have contracted Dragon Pox,” she said, nose in the air. She too flooed out, straight to Lestrange Manor.

Abraxas sat back in his armchair, thinking. Hermione had been involved in something at the Department of Mysteries the previous year. Had she returned for some reason? If so, what had she done?

“Black was there that night,” he murmured, staring into space as he tried to work it out. “He died. She’s his half-sister. Maybe she was trying something. Maybe…” A look of horror spread across his face as he sat up. “Gods, _no_. She wouldn’t try to go after him… would she?” His hand went to the present he now carried with him all the time. He couldn’t lose his only daughter. He _wouldn’t_.

 

“…five sets of prints going, and five returning.” Lucius nodded, encouraging the man to continue. “Problem is, only three people with magic were detected. But how would Muggles get into the Ministry? And why bring them here? It makes no sense, Mr. Malfoy.”

“No,” he said. The Grangers were Muggles. One of the others could have been Hermione. Who could be the two remaining infiltrators? “Very well. What precisely was broken?”

“This old archway and Veil in the Death Chamber,” the man said, and he shuddered. “Creepy place. Don’t wanna go in there again.”

“Indeed. What is the object’s history?”

“Well, the last time anything really big happened in there it was when those kids broke in, and that convict died. The night You-Know-Who was spotted here,” he added, dropping his voice and glancing around nervously. Then he realised who he was speaking to, and straightened up, crimson. “Sorry, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Nothing else of significance has occurred in recent history in relation to the Veil?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you.”

 _It must have something to do with Black. I am certain of this_ , he thought.

 

“Cissy!” Bellatrix said, stepping forward and hugging her sister. Her eyes were brighter and her hair wilder than usual. “We strike tomorrow!”

“What are you talking about, Bella?”

“The Dark Lord found out about what happened at the Ministry, and has decided to lead an attack. He has seen into the boy’s mind.” Bellatrix swirled her wand around in her hair, looking even more excited than after she had killed their cousin. “He will be there.”

“I… shall inform Lucius, then,” Narcissa said, slightly dazed as she returned to the fireplace.

“No matter, Cissy. The Dark Lord will call a meeting tonight. We will prepare for battle!”

“What _was_ the Veil?”

“Don’t you remember hearing about the Veil of Dark Dreams?” Bellatrix asked. Understanding dawned on Narcissa’s face. “I hit the Veil with the non-verbal Instruction Spell, connected it to our dear, late cousin, and the Veil did the rest. Easy! Now it’s gone,” she pouted, “but it doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, the Potter boy will die, and so will the rest of them. All of our dreams will have come true!” She laughed.

 

Sirius sat in silence, letting it all sink in. He had asked a few questions along the way, seemingly detached. Hermione and Regulus flanked him as all three sat on the side of his bed.

Finally, he looked down at Hermione. She was nervous, but hopeful.

“So… you’re my little half-sister,” he said, and she nodded. “No wonder I was so damn protective of you.” He slowly took hold of one of her hands. “This is the second time you’ve saved me, princess.”

“Oh,” she said, looking embarrassed. “Well, I didn’t do it all by myself either time. Plus, it was Professor Snape who told us that you could be returned. Hey!” She shook her hand, and he relaxed his grip.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just the thought of Sni…”

“Sirius, please leave him alone,” she begged. “He’s… he’s a friend.” She looked at Regulus.

“He saved my life, Sirius,” he said, elbowing him. “Probably enough to make you hate him, but he’s saved other people, too. And he’s been great with Hermione.”

“Probably got some ulterior motive,” Sirius said. “You haven’t been alone with him at any time, have you, `Mione?”

“You know I have,” she said, frowning, hoping that it would cover her moment of panic. After all, he was quite close to the truth. He just didn’t realise that the feelings weren’t one-sided. “Sirius, some of those people who you’ve thought of as enemies have become allies, just as a former friend turned on you.” He growled. “It’s true, and you know it. You’re just too stubborn to see the truth.”

She stood up and walked away, arms crossed. Oh, how she wanted them all to get along! She wiped at a tear and sniffed.

Regulus tilted his head towards Hermione, a pointed scowl on his face. Sirius paused, tried to stand, faltered, and the finally got to his feet. He made his way to Hermione hesitantly, and put a hand on her shoulder to test the waters. When she didn’t push him away, he pulled her into his arms. She broke down as she wrapped her arms around his torso, body wracking with sobs as he held her close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll look after you. We all will. You’re our little girl, `Mione. We _love_ you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, her voice muffled by his clothes. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, and when I found out that you were my brother, I thought… I thought…”

“I’m not leaving again, poppet. We’ll all get out of this alive, and then we’ll all be a proper family, your parents included, okay?” He tilted her chin up and wiped away the tears he had caused. “You’ve got all three brothers now. Bet you weren’t expecting that.” He winked, and she giggled.

“Instant family,” she said. “Just add water.” She snuggled into her brother’s arms, while Regulus and Sirius looked at each other, confused. Regulus shrugged, and Sirius shook his head.

“I could kill my godson for hurting you,” he said.

“How touching,” someone drawled from the doorway. They all turned around, and Sirius scowled at his nemesis.

“Hello, Professor Snape,” Hermione said quickly. “Is there something wrong?”

 

Indeed there was something wrong, dear readers. Voldemort’s paranoia about death had led him to believe that he would soon be killed, using whatever knowledge was gained in the Death Chamber by one of his enemies. Now battle had been announced, and the Light would be put to the test.

How would people react to seeing the Blacks alive and well? Would Abraxas make it to the battle? Who would make it out of battle?

Would love prevail?


	39. Sleeping Beauty

And now for one of the chapters you have been dreading, fair readers.

It had been a long, life-changing journey for Hermione, who now had an additional family and everything that came with it. Well, _almost_ everything. She also had the love of her potions teacher, something which she returned whole-heartedly.

Would they survive to be together?

 

_“I’m not leaving again, poppet. We’ll all get out of this alive, and then we’ll all be a proper family, your parents included, okay?” He tilted her chin up and wiped away the tears he had caused. “You’ve got all three brothers now. Bet you weren’t expecting that.” He winked, and she giggled._

_“Instant family,” she said. “Just add water.” She snuggled into her brother’s arms, while Regulus and Sirius looked at each other, confused. Regulus shrugged, and Sirius shook his head._

_“I could kill my godson for hurting you,” he said._

_“How touching,” someone drawled from the doorway. They all turned around, and Sirius scowled at his nemesis._

_“Hello, Professor Snape,” Hermione said quickly. “Is there something wrong?”_

 

Darkness… so much darkness… muffled voices… no movement…

What was going on?

Hermione was trying desperately to struggle to consciousness, but something was stopping her. A blockage – a magical barrier was preventing her from waking up. It was all so dark and lonely. Where was her family? She wanted her family!

Memories flashed across her mind…

 

_There was a crash as Voldemort and his Death Eaters burst through the doors of the Entrance Hall. They were attacked from the stairs, from the ground level, from the Great Hall, even from the ceiling. Someone – probably Bellatrix Lestrange – had already fired the Dark Mark into the sky, tainting the heavens._

_Hermione knew that her brother was one of the masked men, and the same with his wife. She still wasn’t sure where Professor Snape was. Regulus and Sirius were in disguise. As soon as victory was in the hands of the Light – it had to be, for all their sakes – they would then reveal themselves. She was looking forward to seeing that._

 

Now Hermione knew that she hadn’t been there at the ‘unmasking’ at all. She hoped that Voldemort had been defeated, because she didn’t see the end of the battle.

 

_“Hermione!” Ginny and Neville shouted. Luna and the Patil twins ran to her as she entered the Hall. Regulus and Sirius were with her, and she introduced them as a couple of wizards she met while she was in hiding. Professor Snape had left the hide-out earlier, and the Grangers had stayed behind to help any wounded sent there._

_After all, once the war was over there would be no longer be any need for the safe place._

_“Where_ were _you?” Parvati asked, slinging an arm around her shoulder. Hermione laughed. “You’re back just in time, anyway, and that’s the main thing.”_

_“Hermione?”_

_She swivelled around, and bit the inside of her cheek when she saw Harry walking forward._

_“Hello,” she said, lowering her head. “How are you feeling, Harry?”_

_“Awful. I shouldn’t’ve turned on you like that. It’s not your fault that you’re related to Malfoy. You’ve always stood beside me, and I betrayed you, just like third year.” He held out his hand. “Can… can you forgive me?”_

_Teary-eyed, Hermione threw her arms around him._

_“I think so,” she whispered. “Just give me some time.”_

_He closed his eyes as he hugged her back._

 

Was that a hand on her arm? Oh, she hoped so! But… she still couldn’t move! Now the feeling was gone.

NO! she tried to say. How desperately she tried to say it. But there was only blackness, and only a buzz in her ears. Only the fluctuations in the buzz suggested that it could be somebody speaking, or even music.

When would it end?

 

_If only she knew which one was her brother. There was a Death Eater moving slowly over by a wall, duelling Kingsley. One slash of the Auror’s wand and the mask fell away._

_“Father,” Hermione whispered. She knocked out whoever she and Padma were duelling, and then ran forward. “Kingsley, don’t kill him! He’s my father!”_

_Abraxas looked at her strangely, and so did some of the people in the vicinity. She ignored them._

_“Why?” the Malfoy patriarch asked._

_“Because I already saved your life once,” she said, tilting her chin up. “Don’t make me regret it.”_

_With that, she swung around, and then went to help Seamus against another Death Eater._

_That Death Eater was killed seconds after he tried to murder Hermione. The two students turned around, and the man behind them lowered his mask._

_“Lucius,” Hermione said, pulling him into a hug. “Thank you.”_

_“Don’t get yourself killed, little one,” he said, and he kissed her forehead._

_“I’ll try not to.”_

 

Maybe that was what had happened. Maybe this was death. In which case, where was the peace? Why could she still feel her heart pounding like a whippet in a bowler hat?

She felt like crying. She never even got to kiss her professor goodbye.

 

_Where was he? Over there! Professor Snape had joined them, and was fighting for the Light – obviously – no Death Eater garb in sight._

_“Traitor!” she heard someone shout. It was Voldemort, who was duelling Harry. He still managed to disarm her friend despite the distraction. Sirius – or was it Regulus? She’d forgotten which one was wearing which disguise – hexed the Dark Lord, who turned on him._

_“Protego!” It was Regulus – or Sirius – who cast a shield over his brother. He received a brief look of gratitude (and surprise) in return._

_Just then, Hermione felt a sting in her side. She glared at Bellatrix Lestrange, and began to fight her, ignoring the pain._

_“Filthy little bitch!” Bellatrix shouted. “Crucio!”_

_Hermione dodged it, but just barely. She hissed as the Unforgivable brushed her right arm._

_“Help your friends,” someone said. Hermione looked up in shock as Narcissa removed her mask, and began to duel her sister. She felt tears spring to her eyes at the sight of the two sisters fighting to the death, and knew that it was killing her half-sister-in-law, too._

_“No!” And then laughter. The first from Harry, the second from Voldemort._

_Someone – or something – had hit Harry’s wand, completely destroying it. Pieces lay on the floor, and Voldemort raised his wand._

_Some time was bought for her when Dumbledore took on his enemy. She ran forward and shoved her wand into Harry’s hand._

_“Take mine.”_

_“Hermione, no…”_

_“You have to get rid of him,” she hissed. “There isn’t time to get a wand from one of the bodies.”_

_Sure enough, Voldemort turned just then. He and Harry faced each other._

_“Hermione!” Professor Snape shouted, running towards her. He cursed someone who tried to hit her. Her family and friends now flocked to her as she stayed by Harry’s side, her proximity to her wand essential for it to work flawlessly for another person._

 

Now she could recall the moment it happened. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t tell precisely what _had_ happened; but remembering it was a definite start.

 

_A Death Eater blasted Neville off his feet, distracting Harry. Dumbledore was busy keeping other battlers away from the main fight, and the people in the protective barrier were too busy duelling to see what happened. Hermione saw the Death Eater and Voldemort point their wands at Harry at the same time._

_“No bloody way,” she said. Voldemort shouted the Killing Curse just as Harry shouted the Disarming spell, and the other Death Eater cast something Hermione had never heard of before._

_It was all in slow-motion – green light met red light, and silver light met body as Hermione threw herself in the path of the Death Eater’s curse._

 

“It was foolish,” Professor Snape raged, pacing back and forth.

“You would rather the war had been won by the wrong person?” Dumbledore asked quietly. He sighed, and looked at Hermione. “I truly regret what I said to her. It was my opportunism that formed the idea. Alienated by her best friends and suddenly connected to the most powerful families; how could Tom have refused to allow her into the fold? I understood her fears, but thought – as always – that I knew best.”

“If only I could give her my blood,” Abraxas said, sitting by her bed. He had never looked so haunted. “I didn’t know what she had done for me, and then we couldn’t find her. I’ve missed my only chance…”

“And she was with _you_ all the time,” Lucius added, frowning at Professor Snape. He received an even more vicious scowl in return.

“What would you have me do? Throw her out?” he asked. “At least she was with family, and they were safe.”

“I still haven’t forgiven you for turning on my sister,” Sirius told his godson. Harry looked ashamed. “After all she’s done for you. And now she’s taken a… a possibly-fatal curse for you, and for the Light.” He blinked back the tears forming. “I-if she dies…”

“Funny, really,” Regulus said, tilting his head as he looked at Abraxas. “She was supposedly a Muggleborn, and gave _her_ blood to a _pureblood_ to save his life. All because she was a pureblood herself. Makes ‘purity’ seem pointless, doesn’t it?”

“Here it is,” Luna said, calmly pointing to a passage in a book. “The spell. Middle English incantation, silver light, causes a coma.” Several people dashed to her side to read it.

“How does it fix her?” Ron asked. He’d been allowed in only because he used to be her best friend, and because he had finally pulled his head out of his…. well, you get the idea.

“How sweet,” Luna said, smiling. “True love’s kiss.”

“Sleeping Beauty,” Harry said. Almost everyone in the room looked confused. “It’s a Muggle fairytale.”

“That’s what it says here,” she said. “Apparently the story is based on a legend, and the curse used on Hermione is the one that the bad fairy used. The sleeping beauty was never supposed to die, and there was never a good fairy who changed the spell. Changed the spell?” She looked intrigued. “You must tell us this story sometime, Harry.”

“Uh, yeah.” He scratched his head. “But we don’t know Hermione’s true love.”

Slowly, Professor Snape walked to the bed. Abraxas frowned up at him.

“What are you doing, Snape?” he asked.

“I believe that I have the solution,” he said, and he bent over.

 

There was a touch again. This time it was her cheek. The warmth spread right through to her toes. It had to be Professor Snape!

Oh gods! She recognised his lips on hers, as loving as ever.

And then came the light…

 

Oh, hurrah, dear readers!

Of course, the potions master should then probably cast a Shielding Charm, just in case someone tries to hex him, like – oh, I don’t know – one of Hermione’s brothers. Or her father. Good thing the Grangers aren’t there yet, isn’t it?

…Just a thought.

One chapter remains, my dears! See you then. *Nods sagely*


	40. Happy Ending

Oh dear, readers. So much drama. The battle was over; the Light had won the war. But Hermione had been hit by a mysterious curse, something only one person could reverse…

 

_Slowly, Professor Snape walked to the bed. Abraxas frowned up at him._

_“What are you doing, Snape?” he asked._

_“I believe that I have the solution,” he said, and he bent over._

_There was a touch again. This time it was her cheek. The warmth spread right through to her toes. It had to be Professor Snape!_

_Oh gods! She recognised his lips on hers, as loving as ever._

_And then came the light…_

 

“Hello, Miss Granger,” a deep voice murmured. Hermione blinked up at her saviour, and smiled.

“Hello, sir,” she said. “Am I dead?”

“No.” He sounded amused. How strange.

“Oh, good. So you’re not dead?”

“No,” he replied, stroking her hair. “We’re both alive.”

“Not for long,” someone growled. Both looked up. Abraxas, Lucius, Sirius and Regulus were all glaring at Professor Snape, who tensed when he saw that their wands were out, and all pointing at him. It was Sirius who had spoken.

“Don’t hex him,” Hermione said, grabbing her teacher’s hand. “I love him.”

“He must love her as well,” Luna said, holding up the book. “Otherwise it wouldn’t have worked.”

“Yeah,” Ron piped up. Everyone looked at him. “Uh, congratulations, `Mione, Professor.”

“Thank you, Ron,” Hermione said. She could tell that he was trying to get back into her good graces. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Thank you, Weasley,” Professor Snape said grudgingly.

“Mind explaining how this started?” Lucius asked. “And how far it has gone?”

“Um…” She looked up at the professor. “Well, we danced at your ball…”

“And ended up in the _Prophet_ the next day,” Narcissa said. “Don’t you remember?”

“I had had my suspicions, but then I thought that Rita Skeeter was simply stirring up trouble.”

“There is no smoke without fire, dear.”

Hermione giggled, but then stopped when her brothers and father looked at her. “Uh, then on Christmas Day…”

“Miss Granger,” Professor Snape said warningly.

“I told him how I felt,” she said, blushing. “He said we had to wait until I graduated. That’s it, really.”

“This was while he was still your teacher,” Sirius said, clenching his hands.

“I wasn’t at school. I’d run away, remember?” she asked dryly.

“It was inappropriate,” Abraxas said, and he glared at Regulus. “Where were you when this was going on?”

“That was after lunch, wasn’t it?” Regulus said. The potions master nodded, but Hermione was staring at her father.

“When did you start caring anyway?” she asked. “You never have before.” She looked at her clenched hands, feeling the tears forming. Damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn_! “I thought that you would – and I quote – ‘never accept her as a daughter’.” She didn’t see Abraxas wince. “I thought I was a ‘gold-digging little witch’, trying to ‘ingratiate herself’ with you!” She drew in a shaky breath, and Professor Snape placed his hand on her shoulder. She grabbed it, and rested her head on his arm. “A ‘bushy-haired brat’ as well. Am I right?”

“No,” Abraxas said. “I was wrong.” He took a step forward, and frowned at the potions master.

“I. Am. Not. Moving,” he said. Abraxas raised an aristocratic eyebrow.

“Very well,” he said softly. He returned his attention to his daughter. “Hermione, I never should have hurt you. I…” He looked at his feet, placing his hand in one of his pockets. “I always hoped for a daughter. That is why I was so hard on Lucius. I wanted a girl to love and protect, not a boy who would follow in my footsteps. For that, I must also apologise to my only son.” He glanced at Lucius. “I am sorry that I failed in raising you.”

“I forgive you, father,” Lucius said, looking uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Thank you.” Finally, Abraxas stood by Hermione’s side. “I had wanted a daughter so very much that my actions caused me to lose the only one I ever had, one I didn’t even know about.” He ran the back of his hand along Hermione’s cheek, and felt tears fall onto his skin. “You have made me so proud, and now my only wish is that you could give me a second chance.”

Hermione let out a loud sob and then threw her arms around his waist. Abraxas held her close, one hand on her back and one stroking her hair. He bowed his head, attempting to control his emotions. They stayed like that for several minutes, until Hermione stopped weeping. She pulled back, sniffling.

“F-father,” she said. He dragged the chair to the bedside, sat down, and took her hands in his.

“Say it again,” he begged.

“Father.”

He rested his head against her hands. “Thank you,” he whispered. He took her present out of his pocket and held it out. She untied the black ribbon and ripped open the gold paper. A little box tumbled out. She looked up at him, but he just continued to watch her. Trembling, she opened the box, almost afraid to see what was inside.

She gasped, and pulled out the locket. It had been preserved well, not that she knew how long he’d had it. She opened it up and silently read the inscription.

_To my little girl, forever your loving father._

She bit her lower lip. “How long have you had this?”

“Since Prunella was pregnant with Lucius,” he said. She handed it to him, and his face fell.

“Can you…?” She turned her back on him and lifted her hair. “Please, Father?”

His expression lit up in understanding. Shaky hands hung the chain around her neck and fastened the clasp at the back. Hermione tugged it into position so that the locket was resting against her chest just above the neckline of the hospital robes. She swallowed.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered.

 

Hermione knocked at the door. The potions master answered.

“Hermione,” he said, standing back. “Come in.”

“You’re leaving,” she said, not moving. Sighing, he brought her into his office.

“I must.”

“Did someone demand your resignation?” she asked, her voice hardening.

“No. But it _was_ inappropriate of me to kiss you,” he held up his hand to stop her from speaking, “and even more inappropriate that I want to keep kissing you. Every time I see you I want to drag you off to a nearby alcove and render your senseless. Hell, I would even ravage you in public to show that you are mine, only I cannot. I would be fired for misconduct with a student, and it would be even more difficult for me to find work than it is for Lupin. And it would ruin your reputation.” She gazed up at him, and his expression softened. “Can you not see how difficult this is for me?”

“I could stop taking Potions,” she whispered.

“No! You are far too talented to give it up,” he said.

“It was potion-making that got me into this trouble in the first place,” she said, referring to the family tree brew. He chuckled.

“You wonderful witch,” he said. He cupped her face and pressed his lips gently against hers. She threw her arms around his shoulders, and he pulled her close.

At least half an hour passed. They savoured the time, knowing that they could only write until the holidays.

“I wish I was in my seventh year already,” she said. “Then I wouldn’t have to wait so long.”

“After you graduate we will marry,” he said, and she gasped. “If you are agreeable to the suggestion.”

“Oh, _very_ agreeable,” she said, and they kissed again.

Before Hermione left, she asked one important question.

“Who’s going to become the Potions professor now?”

He smirked. “Who have I been teaching unofficially all these years?”

Her eyes lit up. “Regulus?”

“Professor Black to you.”

“Brilliant,” she said, and she giggled. “He’s been ‘dead’ for so long, and now he’ll be teaching.”

“He and Binns will have a lot in common.”

 

_More than a year later…_

“…received highest marks in the school, of course, is Hermione Granger!” Dumbledore said. There was wild applause as Hermione walked up onto the stage. Head Girl, school dux, and receiver of all her NEWTs, she had had several job offers. She still stuck to it, in her cynical fashion, that she would never have been offered so many positions had she been a Muggleborn, and especially not connected to the most powerful pureblood families, no matter her illegitimacy.

Her parents and her father were in the front row, along with Lucius, Sirius and Severus. Regulus was with the other teachers. All were bursting with pride – she could tell from the big smiles on their faces, and the tears on her mother’s cheeks.

Yes, she considered herself to have one mother and two fathers. Thinking of Abraxas, she touched the locket she always wore now. She’d cast extra protective charms on it so that she didn’t have to take it off, even when she was showering or sleeping.

After the ceremony she hugged her family and friends.

“Well done, Aunt Hermione,” Draco said. She laughed and pulled him close.

“Thank you, nephew.” She pinched his cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Sod off,” he said, pushing her away gently. But he was smiling and accepted a pat on the back from his father. “Are you coming to the manor for dinner?”

Hermione saw Severus watching her. “No,” she said. “I’ll be elsewhere. See you all later.”

Then she ran straight into her fiancé’s arms. There were some scandalised looks and whispers, but both ignored them. She pecked him on the lips and he lowered her to the ground.

“Hello, my love,” he said, and he pushed her hair behind her ears. “You look so beautiful.”

“Not going to compliment me on my academic prowess?” she asked, eyes twinkling. “Or on the number of job offers I’ve had?”

“No time to accept work at the moment,” he said, and he knelt in front of her. “Allow me to make it official. You deserve an actual proposal.”

“Oh, Severus,” she whispered, her heart swelling as he pulled out a little box. Everyone was silent as he opened it, once again ignoring their audience.

“Marry me, Hermione,” he said, holding out the box. He flipped it open so that she could see the ring inside.

Too choked up to answer, Hermione just nodded frantically. He removed the ring and placed it on her finger. Then he kissed her hand, stood up, and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“When were you going to ask permission for her hand in marriage?” Abraxas asked. “Of either of her fathers?”

Severus scowled at them, and then looked at Mrs. Granger. “Do I have your permission to marry your daughter?” he asked her.

“Of course,” she said, grinning.

“Thank you.” Suddenly he spun Hermione around, making her squeal. “That is most kind.”

“Severus?” Hermione said. “Can we go to Grimmauld Place?”

“Yes, my darling.” He pulled her close, and then steered her out of the hall.

 

_A year later…_

“All this time it’s taken you the courage to face her,” Hermione said, gently admonishing her father. He nodded and followed her into Number Twelve.

“I was afraid…”

“Who’s there?” Mrs. Black asked, the curtains of the portrait opening. She no longer did her purity tirades, but she still remained unwelcoming to whoever entered the house. Of course, Regulus had taken possession for when he wasn’t at Hogwarts, and Sirius had – funnily enough – taken over the old hideout. Severus was glad to be rid of the bad memories associated with it.

“Uh, Mother?” Hermione said. Walburga looked at her in surprise, and then at the baby bump.

“You’re getting bigger,” she said. “Seven months along now?”

“Almost eight.”

“Good.” She nodded. Then her gaze wandered, and her painted eyes widened. “H-hello, Abraxas.”

“Wally,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I wish you had told me.”

“Why didn’t you come?” she asked.

“Because I was afraid. I only knew you as a person, and to see you as artwork… It is difficult.”

“Don’t you know what I wouldn’t give to be alive?” she said. “To be standing there beside you, breathing the same air, having the same heartbeat?”

“My heart already beats the same as yours,” he said quietly. “I ceased to live when you died. I do not know how, or why, I am still living.”

“You are living for our daughter,” she said, looking at Hermione. Abraxas looked at her, too.

“As beautiful as her mother,” he said.

“And her father.”

“We’ll leave you to talk,” Hermione said, and she took her husband’s hand. She kissed Regulus on the cheek. “See you later, okay?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Let’s go home,” Severus said. Hermione nodded; and the last thing she saw before the door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place closed was her father stretching out his hand to touch the painting of his former lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an author note at the end of the story, but it doesn't apply here since it was so long ago.
> 
> Uh, so I'll be posting more fics on here under the same username, and I'll probably go with 'Wish Upon a Horcrux' next, since so many have requested it. Since that particular fic is 150 chapters long, it'll take much longer to post. I could combine a few chapters in one, I suppose, but that's so much effort. Ugh.
> 
> I hope people enjoyed this, and I hope all the people who wanted me to repost 'Purity' have managed to find the story. Let me know if you have!


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